Me Without My TARDIS
by potterlad81
Summary: During the battle in the Department of Mysteries things go very wrong. An errant spell changes things far more than anyone could've imagined. Despite the title, this is NOT a Dr. Who crossover fic.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: First the standard disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any part of his world.

Next. The idea for this story came about from a review for my first fic, _Correcting Mistakes_. Unfortunately, it was a guest review, so I can't thank whoever posted it personally, but he said that it lacked any original ideas, and that it was basically a retread of what everyone else has done. Whomever posted it was absolutely correct, but that's sort of what I was going for in that story. Their review did get me thinking, however: could I do it differently? So, at the risk of being labelled as "the time travel fic guy" here's a fresh take on a time travel fic. Hopefully it's entertaining and novel. If someone's written a fic like this one, I haven't read it yet.

Text in bold is from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, by J.K. Rowling and is intended to set the scene. I didn't write it and (again) don't own it.

Enough talk… on with the tale.

**Chapter 1—A Horrible Mistake**

June 18, 1996, The Hall of Prophecies, Department of Mysteries

"**RUN!" Harry yelled, as the shelves swayed precariously and more glass spheres began to fall from above. He seized a handful of Hermione's robes and dragged her forwards, holding one arm over his head as chunks of shelf and shards of glass thundered down upon them.**

**A Death Eater lunged forwards through the cloud of dust and Harry elbowed him hard in the masked face; they were all yelling, there were cries of pain, and thunderous crashes as the shelves collapsed upon themselves, weirdly echoing fragments of the Seers unleashed from their spheres.**

**Harry found the way ahead clear and saw Ron, Ginny and Luna sprint past him, their arms over their heads; something heavy struck him on the side of the face but he merely ducked his head and sprinted onwards; a hand caught him by the shoulder; he: heard Hermione shout, "Stupefy!" The hand released him at once.**

**They were at the end of row ninety-seven; Harry turned right and began to sprint in earnest; he could hear footsteps right behind him and Hermione's voice urging Neville on; straight ahead, the door through which they had come was ajar; Harry could see the glittering light of the bell jar; he pelted through the doorway, the prophecy still clutched tight and safe in his hand, and waited for the others to hurtle over the threshold before slamming the door behind them.**

"**Colloportus!" gasped Hermione and the door sealed itself with an odd squelching noise.**

"**Where… where are the others?" gasped Harry.**

**He had thought Ron, Luna and Ginny were ahead of them, that they would be waiting in this room, but there was nobody there.**

"**They must have gone the wrong way!" whispered Hermione, terror in her face.**

"**Listen!" whispered Neville.**

**Footsteps and shouts echoed from behind the door they had just sealed; Harry put his ear close to the door to listen and heard Lucius Malfoy roar, "Leave Nott, leave him, I say his injuries will be nothing to the Dark Lord compared to losing that prophecy. Jugson, come back here, we need to organise! We'll split into pairs and search, and don't forget, be gentle with Potter until we've got the prophecy, you can kill the others if necessary.**

"**Bellatrix, Rodolphus, you take the left; **Jugson, Dolohov,** go right. **Crabbe, Rabastan,** the door straight ahead. Macnair and Avery, through here. Rookwood, over there. Mulciber, come with me!"**

"**What do we do?" Hermione asked Harry, trembling from head to foot.**

"**Well, we don't stand here waiting for them to find us, for a start," said Harry. "Let's get**

**away from this door."**

**They ran as quietly as they could, past the shimmering bell jar where the tiny egg was hatching and unhatching, towards the exit into the circular hallway at the far end of the room. They were almost there when Harry heard something large and heavy collide with the door Hermione had charmed shut.**

"**Stand aside!" said a rough voice. "Alohomora!" As the door flew open, Harry, Hermione and Neville dived under desks. They could see the bottom of the two Death Eaters' robes drawing nearer, their feet moving rapidly.**

"**They might've run straight through to the hall," said the rough voice.**

"**Check under the desks," said another.**

**Harry saw the knees of the Death Eaters bend; poking his wand out from under the desk, he shouted, "STUPEFY!"**

**A jet of red light hit the nearest Death Eater; he fell backwards into a grandfather clock and knocked it over; the second Death Eater, however, had leapt aside to avoid Harry's spell and was pointing his own wand at Hermione, who was crawling out from under the desk to get a better aim.**

"**Avada…"**

**Harry launched himself across the floor and grabbed the Death Eater around the knees, causing him to topple and his aim to go awry. Neville overturned a desk in his anxiety to help; and pointing his wand wildly at the struggling pair, he cried: "EXPELLIARMUS!"**

**Both Harry's and the Death Eater's wands flew out of their hands and soared back towards the entrance to the Hall of Prophecy; both scrambled to their feet and charged after them, the Death Eater in front, Harry hot on his heels, and Neville bringing up the rear, plainly horrorstruck by what he had done.**

"**Get out of the way, Harry!" yelled Neville, clearly determined to repair the damage.**

**Harry flung himself sideways as Neville took aim again and shouted,** "REDUCTO!"

The jet of blue light flew right over the Death Eaters shoulder. It hit a glass-fronted cabinet on the wall full of variously shaped hour-glasses. In a burst of light the cabinet exploded, glass, wood, and time turners flying everywhere.

Everyone in the room was knocked to the ground, the door slamming shut. Several time turners hit the bell jar in the middle of the room, which detonated a massive magical explosion. Shards of sparkling glass and bits of magic erupted into the air. There was a blinding flash of white light and then darkness.

Harry blinked awake some time later. Fear seized him instantly as he remembered where he was. He could see Hermione, Neville, and the two Death Eaters laying nearby. The walls were marred with nicks, and the floor covered in shattered glass and broken wood. The time turners had all fractured, the sand scattered across the stone.

Harry rolled over. He had several small cuts and bruises, but was surprisingly whole considering what he'd experienced. Even more surprising, the prophecy orb was undisturbed in his hand. He pushed himself up, keeping a wary eye on the Death Eaters, and shoved the orb into his robes. Once up, he went over and shook Hermione, who finally stirred.

"Ugh," Hermione moaned, rubbing her eyes. "What happened?"

"No idea," Harry replied in a low voice. "But we have to get out of here!" He went over and roused Neville while Hermione collected herself.

"What about Ron and the others?" Hermione asked as she got up.

"Let's just hope they found a way out," Harry said, bending over the other boy. "They weren't with us, but it sounded like Malfoy didn't know where they were either." Harry pulled Neville to his feet, and the trio made for the door. As they left, the door slammed behind them, causing Harry to wince at the noise, but didn't deter him from his goal of leaving as quickly as possible.

"Let's get back to the thestrals," Hermione proposed as they went. Harry agreed, and the trio wound their way out of the Ministry.

Harry was surprised upon reaching the Atrium to see that a wizard was sitting at the guard's post. He hadn't been there before. Perhaps he'd been patrolling when they'd passed initially.

"Hey, you're not supposed to be here!" the young man shouted with surprise when they exited the lift.

"There's a bunch of Death Eaters down in the Department of Mysteries!" Harry panted as he ran by.

"What are you babbling about?" the man wondered, rising from his chair. "Hey! Come back. I have to write you up!"

The trio didn't wait, but instead entered the visitor's entrance lift and started up, leaving the perplexed night watchman behind to sink back into his seat.

Harry, Hermione and Neville poured out of the telephone box. The cool night air smacked them in the faces, helping to keep them awake. The first thing they noticed was the dense pea-soup fog. Harry sniffed, noticing a slightly different smell.

"That's odd," he said, sniffing again. "Is this smoke or fog?"

"Maybe smog," Hermione opined, sniffing the air herself. "Smoke that's turned to fog. I can't see anything." The lights of a car turned onto the road a ways away. It sounded odd to Harry, and he was surprised to see an antique automobile pass them.

"Wow, that's an old car," Harry observed. "Funny it's out at this time of night."

"There's some more," Neville added, pointing down the street.

"They weren't here when we arrived," Hermione commented, peering around through the fog.

"Are they filming for the BBC?" Harry wondered, advancing to the kerb. "I don't see any cameras."

"Oh, no," Hermione moaned behind him.

"What?" Harry asked, perplexed. He turned and watched as she ran over to a rubbish bin and rooted around.

"Yes!" she shouted in triumph as she pulled out a newspaper, to be immediately replaced with, "Oh, no!"

"What is it?" Harry pressed, walking over to her. Neville followed behind.

"Read the date," Hermione ordered. Harry looked. At the top of the page was printed 'June 18, 1947.'

"Shite," Harry swore, realizing what must've happened. He looked around at the buildings. They looked the same, but they'd looked old when they'd arrived. In fact, they looked to be in better shape than they had earlier in the evening, which, it dawned on Harry, was a bad sign. The street lamps were definitely an older pattern, but perhaps they were historical. Why hadn't he paid more attention to the damned street lamps when they'd arrived?

Another old car passed. Hermione flagged it down. A young couple in evening wear were inside. Hermione pegged the woman's dress as something that might've been seen in the 1940s, and the car was definitely of that time, though perhaps pre-war.

"Excuse me," Hermione said when the man rolled down the window. "I know this sounds a bit odd, but could you tell me the date?"

"It's Wednesday the eighteenth," the man replied, arm leaning out the open window.

"So this is today's newspaper?" she pressed, showing him the binned _Times_.

"Yes," he agreed, peering at the newspaper and then back at her. "Are you alright?" He looked her up and down, staring at a small cut on her forehead.

"Erm, I think so," Hermione said, rubbing her forehead. It came away with flecks of dried blood which she wiped on her robes. "Thank you for your assistance, sir." She waved and turned from the car. "So now what the bloody hell do we do?"

"No idea," Harry replied, shrugging. "Neville?"

"We could go back inside and see what the night watchman suggests," Neville supplied, thumbing over his shoulder in the direction of the telephone booth. "I mean, what else can we do? The thestrals are gone, I have no idea how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from here, and we've no money in any case."

"Sounds as good as any idea I could come up with," Harry shrugged, glancing at Hermione for her assent.

The trio piled into the phone booth and again descended into the Ministry. As they emerged into the Atrium again, a new sight greeted them.

One of the Death Eaters from the time room was standing over the night watchman, who was slumped against his desk. The trio leapt into action immediately.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" yelled Harry, running at the man.

"REDUCTO!" Hermione shouted, following.

"STUPEFY!" Neville cast, joining the chase.

The three spells flew towards the Death Eater. He parried Harry's disarming charm, but caught Hermione's reductor curse on the face. It splintered his mask and snapped his head back, knocking him safely out of the way of Neville's stunner.

The Death Eater rolled out of the way and sprang back to his feet, dancing around another round of spells from the trio.

"LESTRANGE!" bellowed Neville from behind the others. "I'll kill you!" Harry glanced at Neville in surprise and worry before concentrating again on the Death Eater. The man's mask had been destroyed, and though his face was streaked with blood, the man underneath was now identifiable.

"Not today!" the Death Eater taunted and quickly apparated away from another spell. There was a thud as his left leg from the knee down tumbled to the floor.

"Dammit!" Neville cursed, throwing his wand on the floor in disgust.

"He splinched himself," Hermione observed, walking over to the leg.

"No sense it letting him come back and reclaim it," Harry commented, joining her in staring at the leg. He pointed his wand at it, "_Evanesco_." The leg disappeared. Harry chuckled.

"What?" Hermione cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Can you imagine him getting to wherever he apparated to and toppling over immediately?" Harry asked with a grin. Hermione snorted to herself, and shook her head. Behind him he heard a sniffle that jarred him out of his jocularity. "Alright, Neville?" Harry asked, turning.

Neville was crying silently. Large tears dripped down his bright red face. Harry went over and clapped his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

"That was Rabastan LeStrange," Neville responded. "He's responsible for my parents. I could've killed him just now."

"You'll get your chance again," Harry vowed solemnly. "Let's go figure out what's going on." Neville nodded and wiped his eyes.

"Okay," Neville replied at last.

"I don't think he'll be of much use any more," Harry said, nodding at the night watchman. Hermione attempted to revive him without success. The man was obviously the victim of the killing curse.

"So now what?" Hermione asked looking up from the body.

"Head back to the time room and secure the other Death Eater?" Harry guessed after a moment's thought. "It's unlikely that anyone outside the time room came back with us. Aside from our good friend LeStrange, we should be in the clear."

"Except that Tom Riddle's out there, somewhere, killing people already," Hermione stood.

"Maybe we can nip him in the bud," Harry offered, heading towards the lifts. Hermione and Neville joined him.

"Is that really such a good idea?" Hermione asked as she pressed the button. "Time travel isn't to be messed with."

"I suppose we could try to go back instead," Harry said, stepping into the lift once it had arrived. "But all the time things were destroyed. I don't really think that's an option."

"You're right," Hermione agreed. "I think we're stuck in the past for now."

"Great… why did I leave my DeLorean back in 1985?" Harry joked.

"And me without my TARDIS," Hermione added, finally cracking a smile. They shared a laugh.

"What are you talking about?" Neville asked, confused.

"It's a muggle thing, Nev," Harry told his friend. "Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," Neville said as the lift doors closed.

"For what?" Harry asked, looking at Neville.

"For destroying the time room," Neville said as he stared at the floor.

"I blame the Death Eaters for us being there in the first place," Harry pointed out, putting a hand back on Neville's shoulder. "Your spell was an accident of war."

"Thanks, Harry," Neville wiped an errant drip from his nose. The lift stopped and the trio emerged. After wandering for a bit through the Department of Mysteries, they found the time room again, looking much like they'd left it. The Death Eater who'd been stunned by Harry was still lying there. Otherwise, the Department was empty and eerily quiet.

"_Incarcerous_," Harry cast, pointing his wand at the Death Eater. Thick ropes wrapped themselves around the body. Harry knelt down, and started searching the man. He pulled a money bag and two scraps of paper from the man's pocket. The money bag had about ten galleons inside. Harry pocketed it and stood.

Meanwhile, Neville was surveying the room. He found the Death Eater's wand in a corner and snapped it, then carefully examined every time turner he could find, but they were all broken.

"I hope somebody knows how to make these," Neville said softly, peering closely at the shattered glass of a time turner.

"Even if they can, those can't really help us," Harry commented, then levitated the Death Eater, and led the others from the room.

"I think we should be careful what we I do here," Hermione warned as she closed the door to time room. "I mean, we don't know what laws of time travel we're operating under in this time period. When I was using the time turner in third year, McGonagall told me not to let me see myself or I could go mad. Obviously that won't happen here, but are we in danger of unmaking our own existence? I'm just worried about the butterfly effect."

"That sounds like a Dumbledore question," Harry observed as they walked. "I don't think we'll be disappearing from any photographs if our parents don't kiss at the Enchantment Under the Sea Dance, if that's what you mean. After all, LeStrange has already changed time by murdering the guard in the Atrium."

"Are you sure?" Hermione wondered, looking closely at the paintings on the walls, most of which were dozing in the flickering torchlight. "I mean, do you have a mental catalogue of every murder committed in Wizarding Britain in the Twentieth Century? For all we know, this happened in our past as well, we just never heard of it."

"Let's let Dumbledore worry about that," Harry repeated as he stepped into the waiting lift, levitating the body in front of him.

So we're going to Dumbledore then?" Hermione asked as the lift ascended. Harry was busying himself looking at the scraps of paper he'd pulled from the man's pockets.

"Seems as good a plan as any," Harry said absently, still looking at the paper. "'Talk to Vinnie about the Dark Lord when he comes home. See you soon. Love, Lizzy,'" he read, then looked up from the paper. "Vinnie? Lizzy?"

"Vincent and Elizabeth," Hermione clarified, rolling her eyes.

"Like Vincent Crabbe?" Harry asked, piecing the puzzle together. He could tell his mind was working a little behind Hermione's, as her eyes were dancing with their usual fire when she knew the answer to a professor's question, though she managed to restrain herself.

"His mum's name is Elizabeth," Neville informed them, looking down at the Death Eater.

"You think this is Crabbe's dad?" Harry asked Neville as they exited the lift.

"Yeah, he looks familiar," Neville replied, glancing again at the body. "I think his name's Andrew."

"Well, that mystery's solved," Hermione said knowingly. "Now all that remains is how are we going to get to Dumbledore?"

"Use this, and flag down the Knight Bus," Harry said, pulling his invisibility cloak out of his back pocket as they passed the dead watchman.

"That's great, but how will the bus see us?" Neville wondered, calling the lift for the visitor's entrance.

"The cloak's for Mr. Crabbe," Harry informed him. "We'll be paying customers." He jingled the money pouch as they ascended to the telephone booth.

"Right," Neville said. Harry threw the cloak over the levitated body, and they exited the telephone booth.

"Can you call the Knight Bus?" Harry asked Hermione. She nodded and stuck her wand out. With a bang the gaudy purple bus popped into existence and screeched to a halt in front of them. The door popped open and a conductor swung out. He looked far more put together than Stan Shunpike ever was.

"Good evening," the young man said, descending to the ground. "The Knight Bus is at your service. Destination?"

"Hogwarts," Harry said opening the money pouch with one hand. "What's the fare for all three of us?"

"Six knuts," the conductor replied. Harry handed him a sickle.

"Keep the change," Harry offered as he surreptitiously levitated the invisible body past the conductor. The other two followed him onto the bus, and the trio secured seats in the back of the empty bus.

Once they were seated, the bus began rolling, followed by a bang. Harry was surprised by the sedateness of the journey compared to the roller coaster he'd experienced on previous Knight Bus journeys. The furniture barely moved, the ride was so gentle. He didn't bother to look out the window, focusing instead on how different the interior looked. They'd done a good job of copying a muggle double-decker from the 1930s, except for the fact that they'd dropped parlour sets in the place of the standard seats. Harry was starting to wonder if they'd ever gotten muggle culture right.

The bus was fairly empty that night. Hogwarts was only the second stop.

"Have a nice night," the conductor said as the trio exited the bus. Harry looked back as the bus rolled off into the darkness. Then he looked at the sparkling castle in front of him.

Not much had changed at Hogwarts in forty-nine years, at least from outward appearances. The silhouette looked exactly the same as Harry remembered. Even most of the trees he remembered were there, though he thought there were some older trees he didn't remember. Harry ushered them forward, and Neville took the lead, pushing the gates of Hogwarts open.

"I wonder what Dumbledore will say," Hermione pondered as they started up the drive.

"I wonder what he can do," Harry replied looking around as he walked. "I mean, he's not headmaster now, is he? It's Dippet."

"Is he even deputy headmaster?" Neville asked looking up at the night sky.

"Yes," Hermione answered, delving deep into her memory for the answer. "He was made deputy headmaster in 1933."

"What do you know about Dippet?" Harry asked, knowing she could tell him more than he could read off a chocolate frog card.

"According to _Hogwarts: a History_, he's a proud and loyal man. He's a stern disciplinarian, who encouraged the use of corporal punishment. He's old fashioned, but that's because he's… three hundred and nine years old this year." It had taken her a moment as she'd done the maths in her head.

"He sounds like a right nightmare," Neville observed with a shudder.

"Let's try to avoid him, if we can," Harry suggested as they reached the doors.

The massive doors of Hogwarts were closed, but when Neville tried the door, it opened. They stepped into the well-lit entry hall, which looked the same. Harry spotted the hourglasses holding the house points near the entrance to the great hall.

"I didn't realize it was so late," Harry said, pointing to the large clock on the wall which read half eleven.

"We'll have to get into the staff quarters," Hermione reasoned as she too glanced at the clock.

"Well, I don't think any of us know the password…" Harry countered, trailing off as he heard footsteps. A second later a man entered the hall. His face was prematurely aged, riven with wrinkles, and his greying hair was on the thin side. He looked to be in his sixties, but moved more like someone in their forties.

"Students out of bed!" he bellowed. "I'll tan your hides for that."

"Wait!" Harry said. "We're not students. We're visitors."

"Ha!" the man laughed. "That's a new one. You're not very bright, though, is you? That, or you must think old Pringle's just about the dullest pillock in the country. If you'd wanted to be more convincing, you'd should've worn different robes. I'll be needin' to get Professor Dumbledore."

"You're not taking us to the Headmaster's office?" Hermione asked, shocked.

"Oh, no," Pringle replied, grabbing Harry and Neville by the collars. "You're going to Dippet's office, but I'll be needin' to call your head of house to supervise the punishment." He jerked Harry, who lost control of the hover charm. Crabbe's body thumped to the ground, his foot flopping out from under the cloak. "What's that?" the shocked man asked, looking back over his shoulder. He released the two boys and bent over, ripping the cloak aside and revealing the bound man.

"Ohhh… I'll get to use the cat-o-nine-tails on you for this," he said leering at the boys like Christmas had come early. "You've broken the law. It might even be Azkaban for you." He stood, grabbing Harry. "Unbind him and revive him."

"No," Harry said firmly. "He tried to kill me earlier tonight. I was taking him to Professor Dumbledore."

"Do it now!" Pringle yelled, striking Harry across the face with his open hand. "Don't back-talk me."

Harry recovered, rubbing his face where Pringle had slapped him.

"Take us to Professor Dumbledore," Harry ordered firmly. "I'm not a student here, and you have no right to hit me. If you do it again, I'll press charges with the Ministry."

Pringle slapped him again, leaving a darkening bruise on Harry's cheek.

"What'd I tell you about back talk?" Pringle asked rhetorically. "Revive that man." He pointed sharply at Crabbe, leaving him open. Harry's fist lit out, striking Pringle in the solar plexus. Pringle collapsed like a rag doll and vomited on the floor.

"_Evanesco_," Harry cast, waving it at his feet. He followed it up with a "Stupefy." Pringle collapsed onto the ground, stunned.

"Harry!" Hermione croaked in a harsh whisper. "What did you do that for? You used magic on a squib!"

"I'm tired of being abused, Hermione," Harry shot back, before relenting. "Look, I didn't lie. I'm not currently a student here. I made a reasonable request, which he used as an excuse to assault me. I won't take that kind of crap any more. Let's go find Dumbledore. Can you handle this lug?" he asked, nudging Pringle with his foot.

"Fine," Hermione huffed, pulling out her wand. Harry bent over and collected his invisibility cloak, stuffing it in his pocket. The trio levitated the stunned men and continued on their way.

They ascended the stairs and had almost made it to the Gryffindor Head's office when they were interrupted again. A wizened, ancient shell of a man with thinning white hair and a scruffy short beard appeared at the end of the corridor. Hermione groaned.

"What, may I ask, is going on here?" the elderly man asked as he approached.

"Just trying to see Professor Dumbledore," Harry attempted brightly, patently ignoring the glare emanating from the new arrival. "We've had a spot of trouble, you see."

"What I see," the man elaborated sharply, "is that you've stunned my caretaker and another man. I also see three students out after hours. You've violated no fewer than a dozen school rules." He pulled out his wand.

"Don't!" Harry cried as the old man revived Pringle. Pringle dropped to the floor and continued wheezing. He rolled over on his stomach and heaved himself up.

"What have they done to you?" the old man asked.

"Headmaster, this one attacked me," Pringle replied gruffly, jabbing Harry in the chest.

"Touch me again and I'll break your arm," Harry growled stepping back.

"See?" Pringle shouted. "He's violent."

"Mr. Pringle, go ready the cat-o-nine-tails and the shackles," Dippet instructed. "I won't have students disrespecting the staff.

"We're not students!" Harry shouted getting red-faced as Pringle moved off.

"And yet, here you stand in Gryffindor robes, plain as day," Dippet countered, advancing on Harry. At his sides, Neville and Hermione each took a step back.

"Fine," Harry shot back quickly. "What's my name, who're my parents, and what year am I?" That actually gave the headmaster pause. Then he brightened.

"Maybe this gentleman can tell me," Dippet said, turning to revive the stunned and bound Death Eater.

"_EXPELLIARMUS_!" Harry cast desperately. Dippet was taken by surprise, but managed to somehow dodge the spell. The trio were surprised that he was able to move so fast at his age. Dippet cast silently, easily disarming Harry. Harry's wand clattered to the floor at Dippet's feet.

"Now you've attacked me," Dippet said, voice dripping with anger. "Expulsion for you, I should think."

"I'M NOT A BLOODY STUDENT HERE!" Harry bellowed.

"And yet, here you stand…" Dippet said, but was interrupted by Harry.

"SHUT UP!" Harry took a deep breath as Dippet's mouth dropped open in shock. "I'm not currently a student here. I need to speak to Professor Dumbledore. I attacked you because you were about to revive a man who less than an hour ago tried to kill the three of us. Now, if you'll please let us pass…"

"I'll do nothing of the kind," Dippet snorted as Hermione summoned Harry's wand. "I don't know what you think you're trying to pull, and I'll admit, this is a new cock and bull story, but that doesn't diminish the fact that you were caught out, you lied about it, and you attacked members of staff."

"I'M NOT A CURRENT STUDENT," Harry shouted again, frustrated beyond belief at the density of the headmaster. "I'M NOT LYING, AND I DEFENDED MYSELF."

"Young man…" The headmaster was thankfully kept from finishing his thought as a nearby door opened, and a much younger Albus Dumbledore stepped into the hall.

"What is going on?" he asked politely. "I heard quite a bit of shouting."

"Thank Merlin!" Hermione sighed in relief.

"Professor Dumbledore, we need to talk to you," Harry said quickly.

"They're miscreants out of bounds after hours, Albus," Dippet informed him calmly. "Mr. Pringle was just about to administer punishment."

"Who are you?" Dumbledore asked Harry, peering at him closely. "I don't recognize any of you, yet you're wearing Gryffindor robes."

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry said quickly. "This is Hermione Granger, and this is Neville Longbottom." Harry stood with a pleading look on his face, imploring Dumbledore to intercede.

"Headmaster, these are not my charges," Dumbledore informed the man, who began to look confused. "In fact, I don't recognize them as belonging to any other house either. I teach them all, you see."

"But they must be yours," Dippet protested with increasing insecurity. "The robes…"

Dumbledore looked intently at Harry, Hermione, and Neville for some time. "I recognize your surnames," he said at length. "Though I'd thought the Dagworth-Granger line had died out years ago. You appear old enough to be enrolled, yet I know you're not. If you'll permit me…" He pulled out his wand, caught three nods, and waved it over them. "They're not glamoured," he informed the headmaster. "I suppose we could wait an hour and see if they're under the influence of polyjuice…"

"We're not, but we'd be happy to sit with you an hour to prove our innocence," Hermione said quickly, stepping up beside Harry.

"So that begs the question, where are you enrolled?" Dumbledore continued, returning his wand.

"That's not the right question, Professor," Harry said calmly, glancing quickly at Dippet and Crabbe. "The right question is: when are we enrolled?" Dumbledore's right eyebrow quirked up.

"Interesting," Dumbledore mused, stroking his beard absently. He again looked at the three of them. "Are you from the future, or the past?" It was a question he didn't appear to require an answer to, as he pressed on. "Were you from the past I might recognize the names, however, I do not. This is either because you never returned to the past to make your names, or because you are in fact, from the future. Judging by your footwear, and your hairstyles, I'd hazard a guess that you are from the future. Would I be correct?"

"Six hours ago we were in 1996," Harry supplied with ease.

"Preposterous!" Dippet laughed with incredulity. "Albus, these are current students under the influence of polyjuice attempting to weasel their way out of punishment."

"There is a boy known to you," Harry elaborated, ignoring Dippet, "His name is Tom Riddle." Dumbledore started at the name. "He graduated two years ago, correct?" Dumbledore nodded slowly. "His full name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, he uses the letters of his given name to spell out 'I am Lord Voldemort', an anagram. Under the nom de guerre Lord Voldemort, Tom Riddle will become the most feared dark lord since Grindelwald. He is quiet now, and will be for a while. He's building his knowledge, undertaking rituals, and gathering an army. In the 1960s and '70s he will rise to power and reveal himself, declaring open war on the Ministry.

"He will fall the first time on Halloween 1981, when, after murdering my parents, he will attempt to kill me. My mother's sacrifice will protect me, and the killing curse rebounds to him, destroying his body. His soul will remain tied to Earth, though I don't know how. In June 1995, he will restore himself to power through a dark ritual his minions kidnap me for. That man," Harry accused, pointing at Crabbe, "was one of his minions.

"Six hours ago, I was lured to the Department of Mysteries, because I was led to believe my godfather, Sirius Black, had been captured by Tom Riddle's minions, known as Death Eaters, and taken there. We went to the Hall of Prophecy, where we were confronted by these Death Eaters, and a fight ensued. Hermione, Neville, and myself escaped into a time room, filled with time turners and other devices. That man," again Harry pointed at Crabbe, "and another Death Eater followed us into the room.

"A reductor curse hit a cabinet of time turners, which exploded, hitting a glass bell jar full of magic. The resulting interaction threw us back in time exactly forty-nine years. We fled the Ministry, not knowing what had happened. When we figured it out, we returned, finding the other Death Eater had murdered the night watchman at the Ministry. We fought him, but he apparated away, splinching himself. He's now missing a leg.

"We retrieved that man and brought him here on the Knight Bus, hoping you could help us out, but we had an unfortunate run-in with Mr. Pringle and the Headmaster, here," Harry concluded, blowing out the rest of his breath.

"Amazing," Dumbledore said at last, looking them over again. "Who is this man?" he asked, gesturing to the body.

"Andrew Crabbe," Neville spoke up. "Of a minor dark house."

"I'm familiar with the Crabbes," Dumbledore replied politely. "As I am with the Potters, Longbottoms, Dagworth-Grangers, and a host of other families."

"Such as the LeStranges?" Harry asked pointedly.

"Why do you enquire about them?" Dumbledore wanted to know.

"The man who escaped from the Ministry tonight was Rabastan LeStrange," Harry replied running a hand through his hair.

"Hmm," was all Dumbledore said.

"You don't seriously believe these miscreants…" Dippet sputtered, his authority clearly usurped by Dumbledore.

"Their story seems credible to me," Dumbledore replied after careful consideration. "I have to admit, I had my doubts about Tom Riddle. I've been to the Hall of Prophecy, and the existence of a room in the Department of Mysteries set aside for the study of time is rumoured…"

"These children are merely repeating that rumour!" Dippet protested with fire. Just then, Mr. Pringle reappeared hauling the chains and whip up the stairs. "Finally, it's time for punishment!" Dippet exulted.

"I know all about the Chamber of Secrets!" Harry blurted out, trying desperately to think of anything he could do to cement the veracity of his story in Dumbledore's mind.

"Oh, no!" Dippet promptly contradicted him. "That was settled in '43. Rubeus Hagrid was expelled and the attacks stopped."

"Tom Riddle opened the Chamber of Secrets, unleashing a basilisk on the school." The words came bubbling out of Harry. "He killed Myrtle Warren, and only stopped because you," he accused Dippet, "said that if the attacks were to continue you'd have to close the school. He loves this school more than anything because it took him away from the orphanage he used to live in. So instead, he framed Hagrid and his pet acromantula for the murder."

"That's preposterous!" Dippet laughed, only stopping when Harry start to walk off. "Where do you think you're going?" he shouted, as Harry was already walking quickly away.

"To open the Chamber of Secrets, to prove to you I'm not lying," Harry shot back. "Because if there's one thing I don't do, it's tell lies!" By the time he finished yelling, Hermione, Neville, and Professor Dumbledore had all started to follow him. Dippet, shaking with anger, had little choice but to follow them.

Soon, Harry was pushing open door to the second floor girls lavatory. "Oi, Myrtle, are you in here?" he called. A ghostly head popped through the cubicle door.

"You shouldn't be in the girls loo," Myrtle said acidly.

"It's alright this time," Harry replied cheerily. "I'm with a professor."

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore," Myrtle welcomed as the rest of them piled into the restroom. "Hello Headmaster."

"Myrtle, how did you die?" Harry asked without preamble.

"It was dreadful," she began, as he'd remembered. "It happened right in here. I'd hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny, a different language, I think it must've been. Anyway, what really got me was that it was a boy speaking. So I unlocked the door to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then... I died."

"Who was the boy?" Harry prompted leaning against the sinks and crossing his arms.

"Let me think," Myrtle thought, pulling the rest of her form through the cubicle door. "I'm not sure I remember."

"Was it Rubeus Hagrid?" Harry asked pointedly. "The largest boy in school?"

"No," Myrtle answered easily. "It wasn't him. He'd talk to me sometimes when the others wouldn't."

"Was it Tom Riddle, the Slytherin?" Harry tried again. Myrtle's forehead creased in ghostly thought, then she brightened considerably.

"Yes!" she shouted in triumph. "It was Tom Riddle. And he was speaking a foreign language, but it didn't sound like any foreign language I've ever heard."

"That's because he was speaking parseltongue," Harry informed them, smirking. He pushed himself off the sinks and turned, finding the one with the snake on the faucet. "_Open_," he commanded in parseltongue. With a rumble, the sink dropped into the floor, descending out of sight and revealing a dark opening leading beneath the castle.

"Great Merlin's ghost!" Dippet gasped in shock, but Harry was already sliding down the pipe. Dumbledore promptly followed, as did Hermione and Neville. Dippet was left gaping in the girls toilet.

A/N: I switched the pair of Death Eaters that entered the time room in the OOTP excerpt. It was supposed to be Jugson and Dolohov, but I thought Crabbe and LeStrange would be a better pair. Crabbe has a relation to Hogwarts, and LeStrange and Neville have history. Sorry to disappoint.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2—The Burden of Proof**

The chamber below the sinks was not as dank as Harry remembered it. Piles of small bones littered the floor, but otherwise it was empty and dark. Harry extracted his wand, brandishing it above his head.

"Lumos!"

Hermione, Neville, and Professor Dumbledore arrived, adding their light. The others marvelled at the space, even Dumbledore. Without preamble, Harry led off down the passage towards the Chamber of Secrets.

"If you don't mind me asking," Dumbledore said from behind. "What are we doing down here?"

"I'm going to kill the basilisk to prove that I am who I say I am," Harry replied without looking back. "Is Fawkes already your familiar, professor?"

"He is," Dumbledore answered slowly. "What concern is that of yours?"

"He saved me last time, and I was hoping he'd do so again," Harry said. "Would you call him, please, sir?" Professor Dumbledore complied, and soon after, the red bird was perched on his shoulder. Harry paused, having reached the serpent door to the Chamber proper, and turned.

"'Lo Fawkes," Harry said brightly. "My name is Harry Potter, and I'm from the future. In that future, you helped me confront the basilisk on the other side of this door. I was rather hoping you'd help me again. Would you?" Fawkes trilled and bobbed his head. "Excellent. In that case, the first thing I need you to do is bring me the Sorting Hat."

The phoenix flamed away, leaving Dumbledore's robes slightly singed and Dumbledore looking perplexed. Everyone remained silent. Dumbledore and Hermione both used the opportunity to study the door, which Harry readily admitted to himself was fascinating. He was, however, thinking about what was on the other side of the door. Fawkes returned with the hat in his beak. Harry reached up and retrieved it.

"I hope this works," he said quickly, and jammed the hat on his head. "Hello," Harry thought to the hat.

"This is most irregular," the hat replied in his mind. "Are you to be sorted?"

"I've already done, but in the future," Harry answered.

"Ah yes, I see…" the hat mused. "Very interesting. I might go so far as to say that you have the most interesting mind I've ever come across."

"Thank you," Harry laughed.

"Don't be too flattered," the hat responded, "I'm usually only worn by eleven-year-olds." Harry stopped chuckling. "In any case, I see no reason I can't provide you what you seek."

"But I haven't told you what I need yet," Harry reasoned.

"I know what's in your mind and in your heart, young Gryffindor," the hat explained. "Take me off and reach inside me. And good luck." Harry pulled the hat off, flipped it over, and plunged his hand in beyond the brim, feeling around. His hand hit metal, and he grasped it and pulled. With a flourish he pulled the sword from the hat.

"Please look after this," Harry said to Dumbledore, handing him the hat. Dumbledore took it dumbly, astounded that Harry had pulled such a relic from the hat.

"That's the Sword of Gryffindor," he breathed in amazement.

"I know," Harry replied easily. "Fawkes, we're going to go into the Chamber proper, and I'll summon the basilisk. I need you to claw its eyes out so I can look at it. Can you do that for me?" The phoenix trilled and nodded again. "Thank you, friend. I might need you after I do the deed. I did before." Without another word, Harry turned and in his mind pulled up the word, "_Open_." The parseltongue slid past his lips in a hiss and the metal snake chased its way around the edge of the door, unlocking it. The Chamber of Secrets lay before them.

Harry stepped into the chamber. The other three fanned out behind him. Fawkes pushed off Dumbledore's shoulder and started soaring around the room, passing between the elaborately carved stone and wood columns and around the statue of Slytherin. As he flew, the torches lining the walls burst into flame, illuminating the room, displaying it to the new occupants.

"I never dreamed I'd see it," Dumbledore breathed.

"The last time, you didn't," Harry told him. "Keep behind me, you lot. And for the love of Merlin, don't look at the thing until Fawkes does his eyes. I'm going to summon him now." He didn't wait for a response, but approached the statue. "_Speak to me Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four_."

With a creaking groan the jaw dropped. Harry caught a flick of a tongue before he glanced away. There was a sickening thud as the body of the serpent landed on the ground.

"_Who summons me from my slumber_?" Harry could hear the massive snake hiss and coil, readying for a strike.

"Now, Fawkes!" Harry shouted. Harry heard a trill and then a squawk. This was followed by a hiss of pain. The battle of the beasts continued while Harry looked away and tried to gauge the progress from the sounds. The flickering shadows helped, and he watched as the shadow of Fawkes dove on the basilisk again. In a blink, Fawkes trilled again, and swooped past Harry to alight on Dumbledore's shoulder. The bird nodded at him. Harry chanced a look.

The basilisk was coiled about itself, flailing at the ceiling. Finally, it gathered itself, sniffed the air, and looked right at them with ruined eyes.

"_I will kill you all_!" it raged.

Harry stood resolutely, sword grasped firmly in his right hand low at his side, waiting. Hermione gasped loudly. The others took an unconscious step back, gaping now at the massive serpent rising before them.

"_Me first_," Harry ordered. "_The phoenix acted on my orders_."

"_You are either brave or foolish, speaker_. _Either way, you are dead_." The snake uncoiled itself and eased closer to Harry, sniffing the air to get its bearings. Finally it rose to strike, towering over Harry, standing alone in the centre of the room.

"_Do it_!" Harry shouted. The basilisk struck, fangs flashing as its mouth opened, rushing towards Harry. Harry sidestepped left, raising the sword toward the gaping mouth. The serpent's head impacted the sword. Harry held firm, driving the tip of the Sword of Gryffindor deep into the roof of the snake's mouth. As he moved, the serpent's fang grazed his arm. A shallow gash was ripped in the flesh of his forearm. It was a minor wound compared to the one he'd inflicted on the basilisk, but fatal just the same.

Harry staggered, releasing his grip on the sword as the head of the snake carried forward to the ground. He dropped to a knee as he watched the basilisk. It lay motionless, dead. Blood pooled on the ground, running out of its mouth in a small river. Harry fell back onto his bottom, feet splayed out in front of him.

"Fawkes!" he called, pulling back on the ruined sleeves of his robes and shirt. The bird didn't need further prompting, flitting over to land on the floor beside him. Harry held his arm steady with difficulty, already feeling the effects of the venom. Fawkes lowered his head to Harry's arm, and cried. Warm, salty tears welled from his eyes, rolling down his face, and dripping off his beak onto the ugly gash on Harry's arm.

Harry gasped as he felt the healing tears begin their work. Before his eyes, the wound healed, sealing up, and mending into a jagged scar. Harry took a deep breath, feeling his strength returning, and his balance restored.

"Thank you, friend," he said. "I won't forget the help you gave me today. I know you and Professor Dumbledore share a bond, but if you ever need anything, just ask. You've saved my life twice now." Fawkes trilled in response, and nuzzled Harry's arm with his head. Then he turned, hopped once, and flew back to Dumbledore's shoulder.

"Astonishing," Dumbledore observed dumbly as Harry kicked the head of the basilisk to the side, carefully reached between its jaws and yanked the Sword of Gryffindor free. Harry stood there a moment staring at the dead beast, sword hanging loosely his hand.

"Is that proof enough that I am who I say I am?" Harry asked, turning to look at Dumbledore. He pushed his ripped sleeves back down with his free hand.

"I… I find myself speechless," Dumbledore said. "My boy, how did you…"

"Because I've bloody done it before!" Harry cried exasperated. "This time happened almost exactly the same as last time, except instead of a possessed Ginny Weasley opening the chamber, it was me! A shade of Tom Riddle stood right there over her body, taunting me." Harry pointed.

"Was this after he'd died?" Professor Dumbledore asked, perplexed.

"Sort of," Harry responded. "The shade came out of an old diary of Tom's that Lucius Malfoy had slipped into Ginny's school texts before the start of term. The real Tom was somewhere else at the time." Harry watched Dumbledore's eyes go wide. "I knew the shade was coming out of the diary, but I couldn't destroy it… The shade, I mean. Finally, I destroyed the diary by stabbing it with the basilisk's fang, and the shade screamed and vanished, and black fluid bubbled out of the diary. Then Ginny woke up and it was all over." Dumbledore looked pensive, and remained silent for several heartbeats. Finally, he spoke.

"What did you do with the basilisk afterwards?" Dumbledore wanted to know. Harry sensed he was redirecting the conversation away from a delicate area.

"It stayed down here," Harry said with a shrug. "I never saw it again."

"Why didn't you sell it?" Dumbledore wanted to know.

"You never told me I could," Harry replied sharply, stalking up to Dumbledore. "Can I sell it?"

"It is yours by law, as the slayer," Dumbledore informed him with a friendly smile that didn't reach his eyes. They looked worried.

"Is there anything else important about what you've just seen and been told that I should know, Professor?" Harry asked harshly. Dumbledore was hiding things from him. It had happened before, but now Harry was older, and Dumbledore was younger. He wouldn't put up with it this time.

"I don't know what you know already," Dumbledore said carefully. "I shall endeavour to tell you what I know…"

"Good start, sir," Harry observed.

"This is the Chamber of Secrets, long rumoured to be the secret lair of Salazar Slytherin, though judging by the statue, I would say that is now established as fact. By pulling the Sword of Gryffindor out of the Sorting Hat, you've declared yourself the rightful heir of Godric Gryffindor. Finally, by slaying it, you can claim the basilisk carcass as your own."

"What about the diary?" Harry pressed, advancing on Dumbledore again.

"Without observing the item, I can't say with certainty," Dumbledore replied hastily.

"Guess please, Professor," Harry ordered.

"I hesitate to speak of it, as it is soul magic," Dumbledore prevaricated, looking at Hermione and Neville. Neville had vomited, and was propping himself up on a nearby column dry heaving. Hermione was helping him with a concerned look on her face. Neither were paying attention to Harry or Dumbledore.

"I'm already aware, sir," Harry said firmly. "I want to understand what it was. It's out there right now. The shade was of a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle. We need to stop it, and in order to do so, I need to know what it is."

Dumbledore looked at Harry, taking in his steely green eyes staring right back at Dumbledore. Dumbledore was a strong wizard, but Harry was positively glowing with power and determination. He didn't sense darkness in Harry. Perhaps he could tell the boy…

"Please, sir," Harry pressed.

"I believe it to be a horcrux," Dumbledore said at last. "A soul container, formed by the darkest of black magic. I won't tell you how to create one, as I don't know the exact procedure myself, and any knowledge in the wrong hands could be disastrous."

"How do I destroy it?" Harry wanted to know.

"Fiendfyre and basilisk venom are the only two ways known," Dumbledore replied. "It would seem you stumbled across one in perhaps the best circumstances possible. How old were you?"

"Twelve," Harry replied, shocking the professor.

"And you killed the basilisk the same as you did now?" Dumbledore asked in awe. Harry merely rolled up his sleeve farther, revealing the neat circular scar left by the basilisk fang when he was twelve and quirked an eyebrow at the professor. "My boy, that is remarkable."

Harry rolled the shirt down, and let the robes drop back into place. Then he started looking around the chamber. As he passed, he looked at where Hermione was still helping Neville. "Alright Neville?"

"Alright, Harry," he replied with a wan smile, still a little green.

"Well, we're done here," Harry said. "So I'm going to look for a way out."

"How did you get out before?" Dumbledore asked, following Harry.

"Fawkes flew me and three others out, but we were younger then," Harry replied. "We weigh a bit more now, and it struck me that if Tom and Ginny could repeatedly come down here, there must be a way to get back that isn't fly up through the shaft."

"Sensible," Dumbledore agreed. He pulled out his wand and cast a revealing charm. The door behind them and in Slytherin's mouth both glowed golden, as did a hidden door to their right.

Harry first scaled the statue of Slytherin, leaning the sword against it to do so, taking the time to peer in the mouth. He quickly waved away the smell, and pointed his lit wand into the hole. It revealed nothing but snake droppings and more bones. He descended again, retrieving the sword.

"Thought there might be some kind of study or something," Harry explained.

"In the mouth of a statue?" Hermione asked in disbelief.

"You never know," Harry said shrugging. Then he went to the new door hidden behind some columns. It was another round portal door covered in snakes. "_Open_." Much like the other door, the snake travelled around the outside of the door, releasing the latches. Then the door eased open. "It's a stair," he revealed.

Harry led the other three up what for what seemed like an eternity, winding up the dark stair. Eventually, they came to a landing by a blank wall. Professor Dumbledore cast another revealing charm, and a stone in the wall glowed in the near darkness. Harry pushed it, and the wall sprung open.

Harry and the others stumbled into the fifth floor. He looked around while the others brushed their clothes off. Dumbledore cast another charm, revealing a corresponding stone marked with a crudely carved snake.

"This would appear to be another entrance," Dumbledore observed.

"This is near where Justin and Nearly Headless Nick were found," Harry blurted. Hermione nodded. Neville yawned.

"Perhaps we should get you a place to rest for tonight, and continue our discussions in the morning?" Professor Dumbledore suggested.

"Follow me, you lot," Harry said brightly, sensing if not an end, then perhaps a pause, in sight. He made his way to the seventh floor corridor with the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. With the others looking on, Harry paced three times in front of the blank wall before a door sprung into being. Harry pushed it open, revealing a room outfitted with three beds, all draped with curtains with a set of pyjamas laid out on each, a divider running down the middle to separate one of the beds from the others, and a door on the opposite end.

"Yet another secret revealed," Dumbledore breathed, as the four of them entered. "You are a most fascinating individual, Mr. Potter."

"The Room of Requirement, Professor," Harry stated simply, wandering over to one of the beds and tossing the Sword of Gryffindor upon it.

"As I had deduced," Dumbledore replied, inspecting the room. "Though rumoured, like the Chamber of Secrets, I had never believed I would see it."

"You would've eventually, sir," Harry replied as Neville collapsed into the other bed without even removing his shoes. "I think I recall you saying you had a desperate need for a loo, and this room appeared from nowhere full of chamber pots."

"That does sound like me," Dumbledore chuckled. "Shall I collect you in the morning for breakfast?"

"I think it would probably be best if we just ate in the kitchens," Harry replied thoughtfully as he removed his shoes. On the other side of the screen, he could hear Hermione readying herself for bed.

"Very well," Dumbledore agreed. "Come to my office when you're done, and we can continue our conversation. Perhaps then you can reveal to me what exactly it is that you need from me." With a nod, Dumbledore left, closing the door gently behind him.

Harry looked over to see Neville was already snoring. From the far side of the curtain he heard quiet weeping.

"Hermione," he called softly. "Are you decent?"

"Yes," she sniffed. Harry rose and walked around the screen. Hermione was in pyjamas sitting on the edge of her bed, wiping her eyes. Harry crossed quickly and knelt in front of her.

"This is properly bolloxed up isn't it?" he asked, trying to draw her out.

"Yes." He took her hands in his.

"We're going to get back," Harry promised. "Professor Dumbledore will help us."

"What if he can't? What if we can't get home? What if we're stuck here? I'll never see my mum and dad again."

"If that's the case, I'll be your family," Harry said firmly. "And you must've gone round the twist if you think you won't be seeing your mum and dad again."

"What, in twenty-seven years you're going to pop us over to the flat they got together in uni and say, 'Oh, hello Dan, Emma, I'd like to introduce you to your adult daughter, Hermione. You see, you work out after all, and get married in 1977. She won't be born for another two years after that, and bonus, she's a witch!'" At that, she broke down laughing at a combination of the absurdity of the premise and the deep voice she'd been affecting.

"I thought I might do, yeah," Harry rejoined, grinning.

"They're not even born yet!" Hermione protested.

"Ever wanted to meet your grandparents as people just a bit older than us?" Harry asked. "'Cause now you can!"

"I think that'd mess up the timeline," Hermione protested.

"Doubtful," Harry shrugged. "If that were true, then I wouldn't've been able to slay the basilisk."

"Oh…" Hermione trailed off, realizing what he'd said. "But…"

"Yeah, I didn't think of that until just now," Harry told her, moving up to the bed and sitting beside her.

"That would be a point in favour of the argument that we're stuck here," Hermione reasoned, taking his hand in hers.

"I can't think of anyone I'd rather be stuck in the past with, Hermione. You're my best friend, and the smartest person I know, hands down."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I dunno," Harry shrugged. "Listen to what the professor has to say tomorrow, and play it by ear. I might look up my grandparents. Or, it sounds like I can make some easy money selling that basilisk. I'm pretty sure I could make a killing in the stock market. IBM… Ford… Apple… BP… Microsoft… Tesco…"

"Okay, okay." Hermione laughed. Then she stopped, turning serious. "Thanks Harry. I'm glad it's you I'm stuck in the past with." He let go her hand and gave her a quick hug.

"See you in the morning," he said, before rising and returning to his own bed. He didn't bother changing into the pyjamas, and was out moments after he climbed under the covers.

On the far side of the room Hermione crawled under her own covers, pointed her wand at the light and said, "_Nox_." Harry hadn't noticed that the Sword of Gryffindor had already faded away, awaiting the next time it was needed.

ooOOOOoo

Harry, Hermione and Neville found themselves standing outside the Gryffindor Head's office at nine the next morning. The trio had had a bit of a lie in as they'd been up late the night before. Around them, students were hustling past to class, most of them barely sparing a glance at the trio. It was a refreshing change of pace for Harry. He knocked.

The door swung open revealing Professor Dumbledore behind the desk. He grinned from behind his neatly trimmed brown beard. His robes were not yet the eye-watering ones he would come to favour later in life, nor was he wearing glasses. He almost looked like a different person, but it was impossible to ignore the twinkle in his eyes.

"Do come in," he said, waving them in. "I have an hour before my next class, and I thought you might like an update." The trio entered and sat in the provided chairs, Harry in the centre, the unofficial leader.

"What happened to Mr. Crabbe?" Harry asked. He'd been thinking about him all morning; worrying through breakfast.

"Mr. Crabbe was taken to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement last night by myself after we parted ways for the evening. I had gone to the Headmaster's office, and found him there contemplating what to do with the man, and suggested it might be profitable to take you at your word. Rather than revive the man, I flooed with him to the Aurors. They revived him, and he began spouting what they believed to be nonsense. He was talking about a Dark Lord and Death Eaters.

"At my suggestion, they asked his name, then reviewed known family members of the Crabbe family. Finding him not among them, I proposed him to be a liar, and asked them to use veritasserum to question him. He then revealed he'd murdered, raped, and tortured several people. When he said in was 1996, I advised them to turn him over to the Department of Mysteries for study. They did so as soon as the first of them came into work this morning.

"I went with him, of course," Dumbledore chuckled as he remembered. "The Unspeakables were most perturbed about the state of their time room. I explained as best I could the events of the previous evening. They're asking to see you all. I told them it would be up to you."

"What do you think we should do?" Harry asked point blank.

"I think you should go to the Department of Mysteries today and speak with the Unspeakables," Dumbledore said. "They might be able to answer some of the questions that I cannot."

"What about beyond that? We all have living relatives. Do we go to them? How do we explain our situation to them? To the general public?" Harry's voice was strained with evident worry.

"Those are excellent questions which I will endeavour to help you answer," Dumbledore replied. "I think you should be wary however." He threw a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ onto the table. 'Unknown Murdered!' shouted the headline. It showed a picture of the Death Eater Neville had identified as Rabastan LeStrange, missing a leg, cut in quarters, in the middle of Diagon Alley.

Neville, who'd thrown up at the sight of the dead basilisk the night before, didn't look away, but stared steely-eyed at the photo of the dead man. Hermione gave a squeak and backed up. Harry looked from the photo to Dumbledore.

"What happened?" Harry asked sharply.

"His body was discovered in Diagon Alley this morning. He'd been drawn and quartered. No culprit has been identified. I doubt one will be. The LeStranges are almost as well-known as practitioners of dark magic as the Blacks."

"You think he went home?" Harry deduced, leaning back in the chair.

"I think it's a good possibility," Dumbledore agreed. "You said you took the Knight Bus here?" Harry nodded. "I think our Mr. LeStrange simply apparated somewhere he shouldn't have, thinking it safe, not realizing it wasn't 1996."

"Where?"

"Knowing what some of the older families wards will do to unauthorized guests, my guess would be that he went to a LeStrange property, and had a run-in with whomever was living there." Dumbledore sighed. "Alas, we may never know for sure." He leaned forward. "Now I have a question for you." Harry nodded his assent. "Why were you in the Hall of Prophecy last night?"

"I am… will be, the subject of a prophecy," Harry replied, stumbling over the tense. "In early 1980, you interviewed a candidate for the divination professorship, and during that interview, she gave a prophecy regarding Tom Riddle and myself. It was intended by the Death Eaters that I would obtain the copy of that prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, and they would take it to Voldemort… Tom, to hear."

"He didn't know it?"

"He knew part of it, but not all."

"Do you know the contents of the prophecy?"

Harry reached into his robes, pulling out the prophecy orb he'd put there after he'd awoken in the time room. It still glowed brightly, the swirling blue-grey mist visible through the glass. The tag was still affixed, and Harry showed it to the professor.

"S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D. Dark Lord and Harry Potter. Who is S.P.T.?"

"Professor Sybill Trelawney. I don't know what her middle name was." Harry rotated the orb in his hands. "How do you listen to the prophecy?"

"You must break the glass, and the prophecy is revealed." Dumbledore conjured a small bowl on the table. "Please," he said, gesturing to the bowl. Harry placed the sphere in the bowl. Dumbledore shot a piercing hex at the orb, and it shattered. The swirling mist filled the bowl and a ghostly image of Professor Trelawney appeared over the rim.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

"That is quite a bit to unpack," Dumbledore observed, sitting back and looking up at the ceiling in thought. He closed his eyes and tapped his fingers together.

"I… I was born on July 31, 1980," Harry stammered. "Tom killed my parents. He gave me this," he said, pulling back his fringe to display the scar.

"How?" Dumbledore asked, leaning forward again.

"You told me it was a killing curse."

"Hmm," Dumbledore murmured. "Were your parents dead when Tom attacked you?"

"They died right before he attacked me," Harry revealed softly.

"That would do it," Dumbledore nodded. "It appears that your parents' sacrifices saved you."

"So now I have to kill Tom Riddle."

"The prophecy clearly said defeat," Dumbledore countered quickly. "You needn't kill him."

"Yes I do," Harry replied firmly.

"Sir," Hermione interjected. "Tom Riddle causes more deaths and violence in Britain than any dark lord or lady since Morgan le Fay. His reign of terror became something like a civil war. If Harry can stop him now, kill him now, perhaps that won't happen. You of all people should know that. You just killed Grindelwald!"

Dumbledore sighed and looked between Harry and Hermione. In a moment he seemed to age two decades.

"My greatest regret," he said slowly, "was that I had to face Gellert. He was my… friend. I wanted anything but to have to face him. But now he has the opportunity to see the light. He has the opportunity to be reformed."

"What do you mean reformed?" Harry asked. "Didn't you kill him?"

"No," Dumbledore said. "He's imprisoned at the Fortress of Nurmengard in Austria. You see, you needn't kill Tom Riddle. Indeed, I doubt it's possible at this point." He gave Harry a significant look. "He can be reformed; shown the error of his ways. I ask you to let me try."

"You know where he is?" Harry pressed, leaning forward.

"I do," Dumbledore nodded. "But I won't tell you. I ask that you respect my request."

"But he's already killed!" Harry shouted. He was so close to ending things, he didn't want to let the opportunity slip through his fingers. "You heard Myrtle!"

"Yes," Dumbledore replied calmly. "It is unfortunate, and Tom shall pay for his sins. But we have Azkaban for that, and Ministry procedure must be followed."

"You're dooming Britain to decades of fear," Harry shot back.

"I think not," Dumbledore said with a dismissive air.

"Last night!" Harry said, rising suddenly. "Last night you said you suspected Tom Riddle of misdeeds while he was at school. Did you try to reform him then?"

"Alas, I did not," Dumbledore answered. "I had no proof. I do now, and I will confront him about what I've learned and try to turn him from his path."

"But in the future…"

"The future is not written in stone," Dumbledore cut him off sharply. "You yourselves have proven that. You defeated the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, despite that not occurring until the 1990s. You said so yourself. And yet, here you are, having defeated the basilisk twice, and remembering both times. Armed with knowledge, I can go to Tom and convince him to see reason."

"And if you can't?" Harry asked sharply.

"I can," Dumbledore replied. "We share a special bond."

"Oh?" Harry pressed.

"As Deputy Headmaster, I visited his orphanage, and introduced him to the Wizarding world."

"Forgive me, sir, if I don't share your optimism," Harry spat. Then he sighed, resigned. "How will we be getting to the Department of Mysteries?"

"You'll need to use the floo in the Headmaster's office," Dumbledore said, standing. "I'll escort you." He came around the desk and opened the door, ushering the trio out into the hall. Neville hadn't said a word the entire time. He looked some combination of frightened and embarrassed. Harry decided to worry about that later.

"You know what I'll really miss?" Hermione asked, making conversation as they followed Dumbledore.

"What?"

"The music. Half the music I grew up listening to—and love—is gone. I mean, I love classical music, and that's still around. Swing is fun, in its own way, too, I suppose. But I'm going to miss rock."

"First… _You_'ll miss rock?" Harry asked, wonder in his voice. "Second, it'll come around again, you just have to wait."

"True. But we'll be so old when it does…"

"How…"

"My dad listens to Queen, Oasis, and AC/DC in the car. I mean, he listens to other stuff too, like the Cure, and Motorhead, but I like Queen and AC/DC the best."

"What about your mum?"

"She's into Tom Jones, George Michael, David Bowie, and Elton John."

"I'd've though you'd like that sort of music," Harry observed. "Or Madonna, Blondie, Michael Jackson, Celine Dion, or Cindi Lauper."

"They're all ok" Hermione shrugged. "But every time I hear the opening chimes of 'Hell's Bells' I get a shiver down my spine. And 'Bohemian Rhapsody' is just sublime."

Harry had to stop abruptly, nearly running into Dumbledore. He'd stopped, as they'd arrived at the entrance to the headmaster's office.

"Iron Maiden," Dumbledore spoke the password. The gargoyle leapt aside as Harry and Hermione traded a look and then broke down in gales of laughter. "What's so funny?" They never answered him, finally pulling themselves up off the floor and straightening their robes.

"Temporal joke," Hermione said finally. Dumbledore shrugged and led them up the winding stairs to the office.

"Hello, Albus…" Dippet began from behind his desk, though he stopped short upon seeing the three children. "What are you doing with them?" he asked sourly.

"Flooing them to the Department of Mysteries," Dumbledore said calmly as he moved to the fire place. Harry looked around the office. It looked different. The portraits of the former heads were there, of course, but there was a very comfortable seating area off to the side, and a different desk that somehow managed to look both imposing and pompous at the same time. The whirring gadgets were nowhere to be seen. It looked darker—not dark precisely, but less welcoming than it had in Harry's past.

"I don't know what you're trying to prove," Dippet grumped from his seat, realizing he'd lost the bulk of the argument, and disliking it intensely.

"I'm not trying to prove anything," Dumbledore replied easily. "I'm merely trying to resolve a riddle." Harry raised an eyebrow at that. "These children might be able to shed some light on their situation. The Unspeakables asked for them directly."

"Always trying to curry favour with the Ministry, aren't you, Albus," Dippet observed snidely. "They already made you Chief Warlock after you turned down the Minister's position."

"Headmaster, I neither sought that position, nor did I expect it. I merely accepted it when offered."

"Ah yes, the consolation prize," Dippet shot back. "Couldn't give up the influence teaching provides to take the Minister's spot, but you jump when they dangle the ability to sit in judgement and guide legislation. I see right through you, Albus. The board might not, but I do."

"In any case," Dumbledore said comfortably, "we must be off. I'll return shortly. Harry…" He held out the bowl of floo powder. "The destination is the Ministry of Magic." Harry scooped some out, threw it in the fire and said the destination firmly, stepping into the flames. He whirled away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3—Lifting the Veil**

The four of them were met at the entrance to the Department of Mysteries by an Unspeakable. The dim light thrown off by the torches revealed nothing about them. Their face was hidden.

"Welcome back to the Department of Mysteries," a man's voice said. He held the black door open for them, but blocked the way when Dumbledore tried to follow. "Thank you for bringing them." He closed the door with Dumbledore left in the hallway and turned to the trio. "This way." He led them to one of the many doors. Harry couldn't see how this door was different from the others, but the unspeakable seemed to know where to go. The Unspeakable opened the door, revealing a conference room, and led them inside. He gestured for them to sit, which they did. He joined them on the far side of the table.

As he was sitting, Harry had the opportunity to look around the room. Books lined the walls in built-in shelving. The conference table was a matching dark wood. Light came from a brass chandelier hanging over the table lit with orbs that looked similar to, but much brighter than prophecy orbs. The table was furnished with rich leather chairs, and had several rolls of parchment on it. At the far end of the table was what Harry recognized as a pensieve.

"Your names, please," the unspeakable began, after setting up a self-writing quill.

"Harry James Potter."

"Hermione Jean Granger."

"Neville Arthur Longbottom."

"Miss Granger, let's start with you," the unspeakable said. It made sense, Harry guessed. She was sitting on Harry's right. "Provide your birthday, place of birth, birth parents, and their magical status."

"September 19, 1979, Richmond, London, to Daniel and Emma Granger, muggles. Is that what you wanted?"

"That was fine," the Unspeakable responded. "Mr. Potter, same information."

"July 31, 1980. I don't know where I was born, but I was born to James and Lily Potter. My father was a pure-blood. My mother was a muggleborn."

"Who were James Potter's parents?"

"Fleamont and Euphemia Potter," Harry answered after thinking a moment.

"Mr. Longbottom, the original questions, please."

"July 30, 1980, Long Hall, Cambridgeshire, to Frank and Alice Longbottom, pure-bloods."

"Who were Frank Longbottom's parents?"

"George and Augusta Longbottom."

"Who were Alice Longbottom's parents?"

"Michael and Emily Greengrass." Harry started a bit when Neville said that. He'd had no idea his friend was related to Daphne, however distantly. Then he realized he shouldn't be surprised, considering he was distantly related to Malfoy.

"Thank you." The Unspeakable paused to study the notes already taken, then looked back up. "Is one of you the leader?"

Without hesitation, the other two said, "Harry."

"Very well. Mr. Potter. Would you please relay the events of last night and any details you see as relevant?"

"If that's the case, we'll be here all day," Harry sighed, resigned. He then proceeded to tell the Unspeakable the story as he understood it, beginning with Tom Riddle, and ending with their arrival at the Ministry that morning.

Hermione and, much less frequently, Neville would interject to add a detail or fact as they went. Neville mostly remained silent, except where he could provide information about pure-blood families, or his specific role in some action.

Hermione was much more involved, both in the action and the telling of it. She would frequently hop in with clarifications, explanations, or her impression of how something happened.

At noon, they broke for lunch, which was an experience in and of itself. They didn't leave the room, rather, the Unspeakable waved his wand and placemats appeared in front of them. Then, following the lead of the Unspeakable, they each spoke aloud the name of the dish they wanted. It then appeared on the placemat. Harry had a ham sandwich with crisps and a lemonade. When the meal was cleared away, the unspeakable returned to his interrogation.

"I think you've done an excellent job summarizing the events up to now," the Unspeakable said, standing. "What I'd like now are concrete memories. Are you familiar with pensieves?" He received nods in return. "Good. Mr. Potter, from you, I'd like several memories: your fight with your defence professor in first year, your time in the Chamber of Secrets in second year, your time in the Shrieking Shack in your third year, your fight with the dementors just after that, your attendance at the Quidditch World Cup—specifically, the action after the match ended, the events at the end of the third task of the Tri-Wizard tournament your fourth year, and your time in the Department of Mysteries yesterday." He turned to Hermione. "From you, I'd like any memories you feel would illustrate magical or muggle technological innovation in the 1990s." Finally he turned to Neville. "And from you, I'd like memories of parties where large numbers of pure-bloods were in attendance."

Harry approached the pensieve and placed his wand to his temple. He concentrated on the first memory requested. He pulled memory after memory out and released them into the bowl. When he finished, Hermione, and then Neville took their turns.

"All ready?" the unspeakable asked. "Alright, let's go." He touched his nose to the swirling mist and disappeared. Harry, Hermione, and Neville followed suit. Harry found himself at Hogwarts in the space under the third floor corridor which had been off limits. Professor Quirrell was in front of him facing the mirror and muttering. Around Harry were gathered the other viewers. To his left, the door opened, and a much younger Harry entered.

"You were so cute back then," Hermione cooed, partly serious, but mostly taking the mickey.

"I can't wait to see eleven-year-old you again," Harry shot back with a smile of his own. Hermione lost her smile almost instantly. Harry and Hermione were largely ignoring the memory, but the Unspeakable had approached closer, watching carefully the interplay between first year Harry and Quirrell. Neville too was watching with some interest.

The memory ended with Dumbledore entering as Harry blacked out. The mist swirled, finally righting the four at the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. And so they went. Harry had provided eight memories—he'd included the most recent visit to the Chamber of Secrets for good measure—while Hermione had provided six, and Neville four.

During Harry's memories, the Unspeakable simply watched, as if verifying what they had told him was true. When they viewed Hermione and Neville's memories, the Unspeakable became very chatty, asking questions about what different devices were, what had happened historically, and who various people were and their relationship with various other people. Harry was beginning to wonder if the Unspeakable hadn't had Hermione and Neville add their memories out of idle curiosity.

Finally, the four exited the pensieve, and returned to their seats. Harry was surprised to see that it was almost suppertime.

"Sir I have some questions, if I may," Harry said before the Unspeakable could say anything.

"I'll answer them if I can," the unspeakable replied.

"What's going to happen to Mr. Crabbe?"

"He has been sent on to the next great adventure."

"You killed him?" Harry was both surprised that they had done so, and relieved that Crabbe, like LeStrange, would no longer need to be dealt with.

"Within the Department is the Death Room, in which there is a veiled archway to the spirit world," the Unspeakable revealed. "After learning of what he had done, and what he intended to do, we simply helped him through it. It would be far more difficult to integrate him into society than it would be to integrate you three. Besides being an unwilling and violent person, a grown man who speaks perfect… well… the King's English, at any rate, with no known record in Britain would be nearly impossible to pass off as a foreigner. You all can simply be homeschooled Brits, assuming you play along."

"I don't think that will be much of an issue, considering the alternative," Hermione observed sourly.

"We wouldn't kill you," the Unspeakable countered with a hint of pity in his voice. "At worst, you'd be shipped to Canada, America, or Australia, and passed off as an immigrant."

"What does happen to us?" Harry wondered. Hermione and Neville nodded along with them.

"That is a bit trickier," the Unspeakable allowed. "I'll need to confer with my associates, but I think you can be placed with families, enrolled in Hogwarts, and continue to live as you were, just in a different time."

"Speaking of," Hermione cut it. "Won't that be an issue with the future?"

"I judge it as unlikely," the Unspeakable answered. "You've already changed the past—from your point of view—and yet you're still here. It would seem that while you retain the memories and bodies of your previous selves, and that that timeline existed, the time you've returned to has perhaps diverged from that timeline to create a new timeline."

"What makes you so sure we can't unmake our own existence?" Hermione asked.

"Mr. Potter brought with him a perfectly functioning prophecy sphere. It continued working, and conveyed the prophecy, despite the prophecy not coming into existence for decades to come. Also, as I've pointed out, you've already changed the past. The basilisk should not have been able to be killed twice, yet you have not forgotten doing so twice." The Unspeakable paused, considering things for a moment. "Are you familiar with Sir Isaac Newton?"

"Yes," Hermione said, nodding.

"He proposed that the possibility exists that there are more than one universe."

"Scientists in our day called that the multiverse theory," Hermione told him. "Are you saying that when we came back, the universe we're living in now diverged from our timeline, forming this new timeline, and, in effect, a new universe?"

"It certainly seems like that might be the case, but I doubt we'll ever know for certain," the Unspeakable replied. "Now," he said, standing. "It is time for supper." He flicked his wand and the placemats appeared in front of the trio again. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to confer with my colleagues." With that, the unspeakable left through a door at the back of the room.

Harry and Neville immediately ordered food, while Hermione took a moment to stretch her legs and inspect the books. Harry was, frankly, surprised it had taken her this long to do so. He surreptitiously watched her as he tucked in to his roast beef.

"What do you think will happen to us?" she asked as she perused the shelves.

"I don't know," Harry said after swallowing. "But we'll look out for each other, yeah?" He looked at Hermione and Neville, who was still eating.

"Yeah, Harry," Neville said, looking up.

"Of course," Hermione agreed, finally giving up her investigations and sitting down.

As they finished up the Unspeakable returned and sat across from them. Before he spoke, he waited patiently for them to finish and then cleared away their places.

"For the next bit of our conversation I will require a magical oath not to reveal what we're about to discuss." The three teens pulled out their wands and made the oath. Upon completion, the Unspeakable shocked them by lowering the hood obscuring his face.

Harry stared in amazement. It was almost like looking in a mirror, except the mirror had aged a further thirty years. The eyes were blue instead of green, and the ears were a little off, but the nose, chin, and cheeks were identical, and the messy black hair was unmistakable. There was dead silence for several heartbeats.

"You… you're…" Harry stammered, gaping.

"I am Fleamont Potter, Unspeakable. I'm your grandfather, Harry. Or rather," he smiled, "I will be." Harry noticed his voice was different when the hood was down. It sounded reedy, and was pitched slightly higher than it had been. "Now, I believe you're all interested in your disposition going forward."

"Yes, please," Hermione replied.

"Harry, you are the easiest," Fleamont began, sitting. "If you're amenable, you will come home with me, and I'll introduce you to your grandmother. Together, we'll concoct a background for you as to who you are and why you're only just now being enrolled in school. Then we'll get you tested for your OWLs and send you to Hogwarts. Does that sound like a plan?"

"It sounds like a plan to have a plan, but thank you," Harry said gratefully. "I'd be happy to come live with you. Would it be alright if Hermione came too? She doesn't have anyone in the magical world, and her muggle relatives wouldn't understand."

"Harry, you don't have to…"

"That would be fine," Fleamont interjected. "In fact, I was about to suggest it myself."

"Why?" Hermione asked, shocked.

"Because in every memory Harry placed in the pensieve, you're there at the end, coming to comfort him, or he's going to you to make sure you're well. It's obvious you mean a great deal to each other, and I wouldn't want to get in the way of that."

"But…"

"Thank you," Harry cut in. He grabbed Hermione's hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. It was a sort of wide-eyed innocence, mixed with fascination and astonishment.

"As for you," Fleamont pressed forward, turning to Neville, "I don't see why we can't find your family and convince them to take you in. You'll come home with me tonight, and we'll work things out with your relatives in the morning."

"Are my grampa and gran alive?" Neville asked fervently.

"Roger and Julia Longbottom have a seven year old son named George, who I believe is your grandfather. Now, I doubt you could pass as their son, as Roger and Julia are in their twenties, but I don't see why you can't pass as Roger's brother. In any case, I'll be contacting Roger's parents, William and Sarah, who are in their late fifties, about taking you on."

"My great, great-grandparents," Neville whispered, stunned. Harry patted Neville's shoulder.

"It'll all work out," he said smiling.

"And now, I think it's high time we went home," Fleamont said, raising the hood back up. "Follow me."

He led the teens through the back door, into a break room of sorts that had a counter, kitchen cabinets, several round tables and chairs, and a fireplace. Fleamont pulled some floo powder out of the bowl. "To get to our home, say 'Edgewood.'"

Thirty seconds later Harry was tumbling out of the fireplace into an ancient-looking room. It was large, with thick, rough-hewn dark wood beams on the ceiling which had been polished to a high shine. The floor too, looked rough-hewn, but polished to a high shine over hundreds of years of maintenance, but was mostly covered with slightly worn wool rugs. The walls were white plaster, and large windows with small panes of old glass lined the back wall. The side walls had several old doors leading to other rooms, as well as several portraits and landscape paintings, large and small.

The furnishings were comfortable, primarily overstuffed chairs and sofas of some vintage, with plain wood end tables and other furniture, similarly old and polished to a high shine. Light was provided by an eclectic mix of table and floor lamps, whose power source Harry couldn't discern immediately. As he stepped out of the way, Harry saw the mantle mirrored the overhead beams in appearance, and large weathered stones lined the inside of the fireplace. The overall appearance of the living room was one of old comfort. It was warm and welcoming. It was the home Harry had always wanted.

Hermione stepped sedately from the fireplace, took one look around, and said, "Oh, Harry, it's beautiful!"

"Flea, is that you?" came a call from somewhere in the house. As Neville tumbled from the fireplace one of the doors pushed open, revealing a petite middle-aged woman with unkempt straight brown hair. Harry thought she reminded him a little of a short Molly Weasley without the red hair, as he helped pick Neville up off the floor. "Who are you?" she challenged as she saw the three teens.

"I'm Harry. This is Hermione and Neville. I'm your grandson, and these are my friends."

Just then, Fleamont stepped from the flames. "Mia," he said, removing his robes as he moved, "I've brought house guests."

"He says he's my grandson," she accused, pointing at Harry.

"Technically speaking, he is your grandson, Mia," Fleamont replied, crossing to her, throwing his robes over the back of the couch.

"You'd better explain yourself," Euphemia ordered, crossing her arms. "I think I'd know if I was a mum, much less a grandmum."

"In time," Fleamont promised. "Now, may I introduce our grandson, Harry Potter, and his friends Miss Hermione Granger, and Mr. Neville Longbottom."

"Hello," she said politely. Then she turned back to Fleamont, sighing. "This is going to be some story, isn't it?"

"Absolutely cracking," Fleamont said with a smile. "You see, they're time travellers from the future. Unfortunately, they're stranded here."

"You have the oddest stories," Euphemia said, sitting after pecking Fleamont on the cheek. "Now let's sit, and you can spin me a tale." They did.

"My dad, James was born in 1960," Harry said, taking the lead. "He came as a bit of a surprise to you, I believe."

"I'll say," Euphemia snorted. "I'll be, what? Fifty-eight?"

"In any case, he was your only child. I was born on July 31, 1980 to James and his wife Lily. Lily was a muggleborn witch. I got my eyes from her. Most of the rest came from my dad."

"You do look quite a bit like Flea," Euphemia observed, pulling her husband into a sitting hug.

"Unfortunately," Harry continued, "by the time I was born, you had both already died. I was told it was Dragon Pox. My parents were murdered on Halloween night 1981, so I was sent to live with my mum's sister and her family."

"Was she a witch?" Euphemia asked.

"No. They were muggles," Harry explained. "They—erm—actually didn't like magic at all. They… They called me a freak, and my uncle tried to beat the magic out of me on occasion." Hermione pulled Harry into her own seated hug, as he gathered the strength to go on. "Things improved dramatically when I went to Hogwarts and I met my friends. These are two of them. Hermione is the brightest witch of her age. She's top of our class, and a muggleborn to boot, which annoys the Slytherins to no end. Neville is just about the best bloke around. He's always ready to help out a friend and he's absolutely cracking at Herbology. We left a few other friends behind when we came back."

"What house were you in?" Euphemia asked. "Gryffindor, I hope."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied with a smile. "The sorting hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I had just met my generation's Malfoy and didn't care for him, and asked the hat to put me anywhere else, so it put me in Gryffindor."

"And how, exactly, did you come back?" Euphemia asked.

"So… That's a bit of a long story," Harry began. He then went on to recount everything he'd told Fleamont about Tom Riddle, Harry's time at school, and eventually the events of the previous evening, including the fight in the time room.

"It's all my fault really," Neville said, again taking the blame. "My spell missed, and I caused the explosion that sent us back in time."

"Neville," Harry said, getting angry. "I've told you before, that this wasn't your fault. You didn't lure me to the Ministry. You didn't ambush us in the Hall of Prophecy. You didn't chase us into the time room. You didn't even lead us into the time room. You're guilty of making a bad shot with a wand. We've all done it dozens of times. There's nothing, absolutely nothing for you to feel bad about. I want you to drop it."

"Harry's right, Neville," Hermione added. "It could've been any one of us that caused the explosion. It just happened to be you. If I'd shot and missed, it would've been me. If you'd shot and hit LeStrange, and he fell into the cabinet, the explosion still might've happened. Nobody knows. Just know that it's not your fault, and we don't blame you."

"I blame myself," Neville said softly.

"It's very Gryffindorish of you," Fleamont said. "Bravery in all things, even those not involving physical danger, is a key trait. It's a noble quality, and portends great things for you, young man. Your relatives should be proud of you."

"My gran never seemed to be," Neville revealed. "It seems she's always reprimanding me. I was always forgetting things, and my magic was always behind everyone else. I just can't seem to get my wand to do what I want it to do. It's a little better now, but not much. Probably why I missed."

"It sounds like it's not a good fit for you," Fleamont observed. "Who'd you buy it from?"

"I didn't," Neville replied. "It was my dad's. He and my mum were driven mad by the LeStranges under a cruciatus curse. My gran said that using his wand would make him proud of me."

"Sounds like your gran was a mean harpy," Fleamont observed sympathetically. "Making you use a wand not fitted to you and then criticizing you for underperforming. Then again, the woman probably wasn't right in the head after losing her son to insanity at the hands of dark wizards."

Neville looked offended for half a second, then appeared to consider the criticism of his grandmother. He finally nodded sadly.

"Well, it's getting late," Fleamont said at last. "Let me show you to your rooms. Then we'll get Neville sorted out in the morning."

"What about Harry and Hermione?" Euphemia asked, standing to help.

"How would you feel about them staying with us permanently?" Fleamont asked his wife. "Harry is family, and Hermione is his friend with no one else in the world."

Euphemia looked at Harry for a second, before looking at Hermione. Harry and Hermione were holding hands, and had done so at various times over the course of the evening, something which had not escaped Euphemia's attention. She'd also noticed that they both reached out for each other's hands naturally. It was obvious to her what was going on.

"That's fine," she said at last. "It wouldn't do to toss the poor girl out on the street with nothing. In fact, I insist she stay."

"Thank you, ma'am," Hermione said gratefully.

"None of that, now. Call me… Auntie Mia should do, don't you think?"

"And I'm Uncle Flea."

"What should I call you?" Harry asked them.

Euphemia considered the question a moment, looking at Harry, and then at Fleamont.

"I don't suppose there's any point in hiding the familial connection," she reasoned. "Flea, what if we tried to pass him off as our son?"

"That comes with it obvious questions, such as, where's he been for the past fifteen years? Or why didn't you tell people we had a son?" Silence fell over the group as each considered the problems passing Harry off as the son of Fleamont and Euphemia would bring.

"He's a child of prophecy!" Hermione cried suddenly, shooting to her feet.

"So?" Harry asked rising as well. "How does that help us?"

"It gave me the idea," Hermione countered, barely pausing in her excitement. "You could say that Harry was the subject of a prophecy which necessitated keeping Auntie Mia's pregnancy and Harry's birth under wraps. The need for secrecy continued until the prophecy was fulfilled just now, which meant he needed to be schooled at home. I am likewise, a child of prophecy, distantly related through a… a… Canadian relative, a great aunt or something. I was brought here in infancy to be raised to fulfil the prophecy, and schooled with Harry. Now that the prophecy's fulfilled, I can rejoin the world, but my parents were tragically killed in an accident, and I cannot return home."

"What was the prophecy?" Fleamont asked, trying to work out the details.

"That's a rather personal question, don't you think?" Hermione countered easily. "It's rather presumptuous of you to think I know you well enough to divulge that!"

"Or… I'm oath-bound not to tell," Harry added.

"Splendid," Fleamont nodded. "I guess you'd best call me dad in public, and Mia mum."

"Can I call you that at home, too?" Harry asked, looking bashfully at both of them. "I mean, I never really knew my mum and dad, and it would make it easier to remember to do in public."

"That's fine, dear," Euphemia agreed. "Welcome to the family!" She pulled him into a hug; his first from an actual relative. He closed his eyes and savoured the feeling, hugging her back easily.

"Would it be possible to include me in the story?" Neville asked. "I would explain why we're all appearing at the same time."

"We'll talk to your relatives tomorrow," Fleamont said. "They deserve the real story, and then we'll see if they want to piggyback off our ruse, or come up with their own. Given the choice, they'll probably be happy to throw in with us. The Longbottoms are a good sort, been friends of the family and political allies for generations."

With that decided, the teens were packed off to bed. That necessitated an abbreviated tour of the house. It was large, but relatively plain. They'd arrived in the family room, a large space in the middle of the back of the house. To the left was the kitchen, which looked like a large farmhouse kitchen. To the right was the library, which Euphemia promised Hermione could look at in the morning. In front of the library was the formal parlour, which had some fancier furniture and fancier wood work, but was otherwise substantially similar, if somewhat smaller than the family room. Opposite the parlour was the formal dining room, which had all the class of the parlour with the functionality of an eating space. Between them was the entry hall, with a fancy stair and brass chandelier. Harry thought it looked like the entry hall belonged in a Scottish hunting lodge.

Upstairs, the master bedroom was on the right, with its own sitting room and loo. There were three more bedrooms and another loo off the hall upstairs, though one was acting as Fleamont's office. There was a partially finished basement that was left off the tour that night where there was a game room, a practice room, a potions lab, a workshop, and storage. There was also a garage off the kitchen that housed the Potters' 1939 Singer Bantam Saloon Car.

Harry got the room over the dining room. Hermione took the room over the kitchen. Neville was bunked for the night on a camp bed in the office. The elder Potters bid them good night, and retreated to their own bedroom. It was just past eleven. It had been a long day.

ooOOOOoo

Sunlight streamed through the window as Harry blinked awake. The clock next to the bed read 7:17 AM. For a second, he wondered where he was, before he realized the truth. He threw back the covers and walked to the window in his boxers, getting his first view of the outside of his new home. There was a front garden about the size of a football pitch, with a circular drive in front of the house. A gravel lane departed from the circle opposite the house, disappearing into the forest.

His room was as homey as the family room downstairs, with smaller dark wood ceiling beams and trim. The white walls were decorated with black and white photos of landscapes. The bed, a double, matched the room with dark wood and a white bedspread. Opposite the bed was a large wardrobe. Matching nightstands adorned with a clock and lamps flanked the bed, and a small desk sat under the window.

Harry picked up his clothes off the floor where he'd left them the night before. He was unsure if he could perform magic here. He was technically underage, but he also wasn't technically a person recognized by the Ministry. He decided not to risk it, and simply shook out his clothes. He'd need to get more soon. Something to talk to his new mum and dad about.

After dressing, he visited the loo, where he found shower things laid out, and a dripping shower and foggy mirror indicating that Hermione was already awake, as two towels remained untouched. He showered, brushed his teeth and redressed, descending the stairs ten minutes later.

"Harry! You're up. Would you like breakfast?"

"Sure, mum," Harry tried. It sounded good, and he smiled. "What's on?"

"Hermione's having toast and jam," she said, indicating Hermione, seated at the kitchen table, who smiled and toasted him with her toast. "But I can fix eggs, or bangers if you'd like."

"Toast and jam sounds fine," Harry replied, taking a seat. "I'd help, but I don't know where anything is yet, and I'd be more bother than not."

"You don't have to do that."

"I actually like cooking," Harry said. "It was the one time my aunt, uncle, and cousin left me alone. I'm pretty good at it, if I do say so myself."

"We'll see," Euphemia said, placing a plate of toast and a glass of juice in front of him.

"Do you have bacon?" Harry asked.

"I can get some when I go out today," Euphemia replied. "We don't usually get it, so I have more than enough coupons."

"Coupons?" Harry asked, confused.

"Ration coupons, Harry," Hermione instructed. "During World War II food, clothes, soap, and petrol were rationed in Britain. That continued up to 1954…"

"Sweet Merlin, we've got almost another decade of this?" Euphemia sighed.

"Sorry," Hermione said. "Ration coupons are required to buy food from the local shops to ensure people don't get more than their allotment."

"We're partially exempt as Magicals," Euphemia added, "The engine in the car runs on magic, and I've been repairing or transfiguring our clothes instead of buying new for seven years now, cleaning clothes and about the house is a charm away so no soap, but I buy a fair amount of my food from the shops in Avebury."

"Are eggs and sausage not rationed?" Harry asked, noting that they'd been offered.

"Eggs are, but we've chickens, a cow, and a relatively large Victory Garden out back. Like I said, magic helps. Sausage went off ration in 1944."

"I can't believe purebloods became farmers during World War II," Harry crowed, laughing at the idea of Lucius Malfoy types with a hoe and a shovel.

"Most of them didn't," Euphemia groused as she poured herself a cuppa. "A large number of them take weekly international portkeys to Brazil or Argentina to buy food."

"Those jerks!" Hermione almost shouted. "The Wizengamot should do something about that."

"It's most of the Wizengamot doing it," Euphemia told her, adding milk. "They wouldn't vote to stop it."

"Then they should import enough food for every magical," Hermione argued.

"They should, but they won't," Euphemia replied, leaning back against the counter and taking a sip. "It's another way for the pureblood elites to feel elite."

"Aren't you pureblood?" Harry asked around a mouthful of bread.

"Don't eat with your mouth full," Euphemia chided, lowering the cup. "And yes, but look at how we live." She gestured with her hand. "We're rich enough we could upgrade to a manor. We've the land and money to do so, but we love this house, and besides, when Lord Henry dies, we'll inherit Peverell House."

"Henry Potter?" Harry clarified.

"Yes, Fleamont's father, your great grandfather."

"Will I meet him?"

"Probably today or tomorrow, I'd imagine," Euphemia replied as the door opened. Neville entered.

"Good morning," he said. "Sorry I'm late."

"Not at all, dear," Euphemia replied with a smile. "Breakfast?"

"Yes, please," Neville agreed, sitting. Fleamont entered right behind him, not even waiting for his wife's acknowledgement, but kissing her cheek and grabbing a cup of tea while she served Neville.

"Are you lot ready for today?" Fleamont asked, turning around from the counter.

"Are we going with you?" Harry asked.

"I think you'll help convince the Longbottoms I'm not trying to pull one over on them," Fleamont replied after taking a sip.

"Okay," Harry agreed. It made sense to him, and he went back to eating. The kitchen lapsed into silence as the meal was consumed.

"So, what's the future like?" Euphemia asked to break the silence.

"Magical or Muggle?" Harry wanted to know, then ploughed ahead. "Can't see much difference in the magical world so far, except that Albus Dumbledore became the headmaster at Hogwarts after Dippet retired. Is the Ministry corrupt? 'Cause it seemed to be in the future. They were usually using the _Daily Prophet_ to badmouth me or Dumbledore, and I'm pretty sure the Minister was accepting bribes from some Death Eaters. Neville might be able to tell you more, since I grew up in the Muggle world."

"Well, erm, I haven't seen much, you see, but Harry's right, it does seem to be about the same," Neville offered. "The buildings don't look substantially different. I don't know whether changes came in Quidditch or the Ministry. Sorry."

"It's quite difficult to gauge the changes," Hermione added. "We don't learn about more recent events in History of Magic. And even the books in the library at Hogwarts don't really get into changes in the last fifty years. I had some success learning about the War in the 1960s and 1970s studying old _Daily Prophets_, but I've concluded that their content is biased and inaccurate at best."

"What about the muggle world?"

"All sorts of stuff has happened," Harry said. "Um…"

"Communism's a thing of the past most places," Hermione cut in. "The Soviet Union collapsed in 1991. Germany, which spent forty years as two countries, is reunited, finally. Poland, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Bulgaria, and Romania are free and holding democratic elections. Yugoslavia's a bit of a mess, but Europe's fixing it. The western Allies and West Germany formed an alliance called NATO to counter Soviet aggression. The Soviets made the Warsaw Pact, which did the same thing to counter NATO aggression, though that was mostly propaganda, as there really was no NATO aggression. The Soviet Union developed an atomic bomb in 1949 after their spies stole it from America. By 1996 America, Britain, France, Russia, China (the communists won the civil war there, and the last nationalist hold outs have been living in on Formosa for decades), Pakistan, and India all had atomic bombs.

"Oh! The Empire's fallen apart. Aside from some small islands like Bermuda and the Falklands, most of Britain's colonies and overseas possessions have gained their independence. That wasn't a problem for Canada, Australia, or New Zealand, but most of Africa's had a bit of a rough go, with all sorts of wars. South Africa was a mess for years, but they've recently rejoined the world community after they repealed apartheid (a law separating blacks from whites). India will gain its independence this year, but there has been bad blood between Hindu India and Muslim Pakistan (the northwestern part of India as you know it) ever since independence. Israel gets formed in a year or so, as a place for Jews to go, but the Palestinians who live there didn't like it much, so there were a half dozen or so wars to sort it out. Israel's still going strong a half century later, but it's not very popular globally.

"Britain's fought wars in Malaya from 1948 to 1966, in Korea from 1950 to 1953, Cyprus from 1955 to 1959, the Suez Canal Zone in 1956 and '57, Brunei and Adan in the mid '60s, the Falklands in 1982, Kuwait and Iraq in 1991, and Yugoslavia from 1991 until we left. But none of those wars rivalled the size or scope of World War II. Oh, and Northern Ireland's a pretty violent place, ever since the Troubles started in 1968. Lots of bombs and shootings. The Catholics there want to be part of the Republic, but the Protestants want to stay in the UK.

"Elizabeth became queen in 1952, and she's been reigning ever since. The UK elected their first woman Prime Minister in 1979. She's become the longest serving prime minister in the 20th century. She was only ousted in 1990. The 1960s were a period where women gained a lot of rights and became seen as equals of men.

"Britain became a pretty socialist place for most of the second half of the twentieth century, but Margaret Thatcher, the woman PM, undid most of that. The railroads, telephones, and other industries like that were nationalized, but now only the National Health Service remains. London's still a major city on the world stage, but Britain itself isn't much more powerful or important than Spain or Italy are here.

"Then there are the technological improvements. Electronic computers that are the size of a large room now can fit on a desk. There are telephones that don't require cords, and you can take almost anywhere. Cars are much more reliable, quicker, and more efficient. Television is really big—that's a box that shows electric pictures, like a combination of a magical photo and the wireless. It's replaced radio as most people's means of getting entertainment and information. There are microwaves that let people cook food without flame. There are audio and video tapes that let you record things on the radio or the telly so you can watch or listen to them later. There are so many vaccines now that most people don't get seriously ill from disease until much much later in life. Manned spaceflight is routine, though most people haven't been to space. America sent six missions to the moon. In 1969 Neil Armstrong became the first man to walk on the moon, though no one's been back since the early 1970s.

"Then there's the bad stuff like the hole in the ozone layer from using certain chemicals, radioactive pollution from a nuclear power plant blowing up in the Soviet Union, massive oil spills in Alaska, mutually assured destruction…"

"How do you remember all that?" Harry asked, bewildered. The other people in the room were staring at her like she had two heads. "I know you read, but that's a lot of dates!"

"I just like knowing things," Hermione shrugged. "You of all people should know that about me."

"You are the smartest witch of our age," Harry allowed with a shrug.

"You must be," Fleamont agreed, "because I didn't understand most of that. Someday, I'm going to have to take you into work and debrief you, but that won't be today. As for right now, it's time to go. I'm sure Neville wants to get home. We'll floo over there, so meet me in the family room when you're done with your breakfasts." He put his tea mug down and left.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4—Brave New World**

Harry stumbled out of the floo in late-afternoon feeling drained. It had taken but fifteen minutes to convince William and Sarah Longbottom that Neville was a descendant of theirs from the future. It had taken less time for them to accept him into their home, and only as long as it took to tell it to convince them to join the others in their secret tale. Neville would be, for all intents and purposes, their son, though without the inheritances, which, as first son, would pass to Roger.

What had taken the most time was that William and Sarah, and to a lesser extend Fleamont, had requested to see memories of the future in the Longbottom pensieve. Harry and Hermione had come along and seen a surprising amount of Neville's private life with his family. There were school memories as well, some of which showed Neville as a bumbling firstie, but a larger portion, many from Harry and Hermione, showed Neville as a brave young man, standing up for what he believed in, and working hard.

Of course, the entire story had come out, with the requisite showings of Harry's run-ins with Tom Riddle—those he remembered, at any rate—and other exciting happenings, such as the events of the Tri-Wizard Tournament and some bits of his time at Grimmauld Place, which the Longbottoms seemed especially interested in, considering they'd never been allowed inside.

The whole thing had taken a good amount of time. They'd missed lunch, which had Harry and Hermione's stomachs both rumbling. In recompense, when they left the Longbottoms' Fleamont took them to the Leaky Cauldron for a late lunch. Then, they'd gone shopping. Harry and Hermione had no other clothes than those on their backs, so Fleamont took them to both Diagon and Muggle London to pick up a variety of clothes. This was accomplished through the judicious use of ration coupons in the muggle world, but were not required in the magical world. When Hermione asked about the discrepancy, Fleamont merely shrugged. He didn't know where magical stores got their clothing supplies.

During their excursion Harry was outfitted with slacks of all types, shirts (both formal and informal), jumpers, waistcoats, jackets, coats, several complete suits, a tuxedo, morning dress, white tie dress, ties (both standard and bow), hats, caps, underclothes, shoes, and robes (formal, school, and informal). Hermione, too, was outfitted with everything a woman in 1947 would need in both the magical and muggle worlds.

Not one to be enamoured of shopping at the best of times, Harry was mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted by the time they returned to Edgewood. Hermione joined him in a similar state, while Fleamont looked invigorated.

"Go upstairs and get cleaned up," he said to the two teens. "We're having guests for supper, but they're arriving in time for tea."

Harry and Hermione returned to the family room ten minutes later to see Fleamont entertaining two elderly couples. They pulled up short when they realized the three were staring at them.

"Harry, I'd like to introduce you to Lord Henry and Lady Winifred Potter, my parents," Fleamont indicated the couple sitting on the left side of the couch, "and John and Margaret Abbott, Mia's parents." He indicated the couple on the right side of the couch as he turned back to the two couples. "Mum, Dad, John, Margaret, I'd like to introduce you to Harry Potter and his friend Hermione Granger."

There was dead silence in the room. It stretched on and on, but Harry realized the two couples were staring not at him, but at Fleamont, and the looks they were giving him weren't complimentary.

"Well, say something!" Fleamont said at last. "It's only polite."

"What do you want me to say, Flea?" his mother asked sharply. "Am I to be glad that you've acknowledged your bastard, or mortified that you've chosen to do so in front of your wife's parents?"

"Bastard?!" Harry nearly shouted, stepping forward. "I'm no bastard."

"Really?" Winifred asked, practically turning her nose up at him. "Who's your mother?"

"Lily Potter," Harry shot back.

"Never heard of her," Henry snorted, crossing his arms.

"Muggle born witch," Harry informed him, crossing his own.

"Don't tell me you've found a way around the proscription on polygamy?" Winifred asked Fleamont.

"No, mother," Flea replied, sagging from the effort this sudden turn in the conversation had wrought in him. "Harry's not my bastard. He isn't really mine at all."

"Although I am, in a way," Harry said grinning at Fleamont as Harry and Hermione finally took their seats. Harry realized that while it was ugly, it was unlikely to get uglier. He turned to the four elders. "You see, to us, two days ago was June 18…"

"Was for us as well," John Abbott snorted.

"…1996," Harry finished. There were astonished gasps and disbelieving snorts amongst the elders. "We and a few other friends had gotten into a bit of a scuffle with some pureblood supremacists in the Department of Mysteries. Hermione, my friend Neville, two of the supremacists, and myself were involved in an accident in a room dedicated to the study of time. One reductor later and we woke up in 1947."

The four old people all attempted to talk at once. Harry put up his hands to silence them.

"My father was James Potter, the son of your children, who will be born in 1960," Harry said. "You are my great grandparents. Like I told you, my mum, born Lily Evans, is a muggle born witch. I know next to nothing about her family because she and my father were killed in 1981, when I was fifteen months old."

"We're just supposed to accept that you're from the future?" Henry challenged, leaning forward in his seat.

"If you've a pensieve I'd be happy to show you my memories, and you can cross-check them with Hermione's memories. If that's insufficient, and you've access to veritasserum, you can give me that and I'll answer any question you wish. Or, I could just swear a magical oath as to my date of birth, which should answer your question satisfactorily."

"Do it," Henry ordered. Harry pulled out his wand and stood.

"I, Harry James Potter, swear on my life and magic, that I was born on July 31, 1981. So mote it be." With that, he swished his wand, which emitted a cascade of red sparks.

"Sweet Merlin, it's true," Margaret gasped, gripping her husband's arm.

"It is," Fleamont agreed, glad the confrontation had ended. "We told you because we wanted to be honest with family. Because we're not planning to be honest with the rest of the world. You'll be in on the secret, as it were."

"Do any of you know the Fidelius Charm?" Hermione asked.

"What in the name of Merlin would you need that for?" John asked, confused.

"Albus Dumbledore and Armando Dippet both know the truth, even if Dippet doesn't believe it. Also, Dumbledore is a legilimens. It might be prudent, if we want to hide this knowledge, that we shield it under a fidelius charm, so that Dumbledore and Dippet can't share the secret unless we want them to, and so that others skilled in legilimency can't discover the truth."

"That's very canny," Henry observed with a nod. "Are you sure you're not in Slytherin?"

"If anything she should've been in Ravenclaw," Harry stated, gripping her hand in solidarity. "Besides, Slytherin probably wouldn't want her."

"Why not?" Winifred asked, looking Hermione over, and noticing the hand holding, which seemed to continue unnoticed by the two teens.

"I'm muggleborn," Hermione said simply.

"That's not a problem for us," Henry said, draping his arm around his wife proudly. "You said your father married a muggleborn?" he asked Harry.

"That's right."

"I can't say I'm upset about it, or even surprised," Henry observed. "Ever since I got a black eye from the blood purists for supporting muggle rights, I've wanted to stick it to them. We've been doing so privately for more than a century, but nothing publicly."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"In the middle of the eighteenth century, magical society was tiered much like muggle society. Nobility was at the top, then families of means, professional trades, and finally the working classes. Having your family extant in Britain since before the conquest got you the moniker ancient, which kicked you up a half notch in the social standings. Ancient and noble families were at the top, with ancient wealthy non-nobles above your normal wealthy families.

"Several families who were not ancient or noble were a bit put out about their lack of status, so they did some digging. They found that most of the ancient, noble, and wealthy families commonly married muggleborn witches and wizards. A few, mostly middling magical families, married other middling magical families, and had for several generations. A group of those families got together and decided that it meant something that they had done so, and blood purity was born."

"Why did the noble families marry muggleborns?" Hermione asked.

"There were fairly few noble magical families," Henry replied. "In order to keep the nobles noble, they should marry from other noble families, which meant they could either marry into one of the few magical noble families, which would result in inbreeding in short order, or they could marry a muggleborn noble, and freshen the genetic pool, as it were."

"You know about genetics?" Hermione asked, somewhat astounded.

"I should," Henry chuckled. "I met Gregor Mendel when I was very young, and I've met Wilhelm Johannsen several times."

"Who?" Harry asked.

"The man who discovered genetic traits were inherited, and the man who first named them genes," Hermione explained. "How did you…?"

"Potters are Gryffindors, but they are because they are always learning, exploring, and experimenting, even with dangerous magics," Henry said. "Many Potters are famous for it, including, dare I say it, Fleamont here. Several others have made their name on the muggle side of things, though nothing as famous as, say the Duke of Wellington. I got my interest in genetics from my great uncle Thomas Potter, who worked on the muggle side as a naturalist and antiquary."

"What does this have to do with genetics?" Harry asked, trying to make sense out of all of it.

"My great uncle introduced me to Mendel," Henry replied. "He also led me to read extensively on genetic traits and the like. Anyway, the only ancient and noble family that qualified as purebloods at the time were the Blacks, which I suppose is why they became the most public face of blood purity.

"Suddenly, ancient and noble families were finding themselves excluded from some aspects of society because they weren't purebloods, and they couldn't have that. Rather than challenge the upstart 'pureblood' movement, they went along, and found themselves pureblood brides for their children. My great grandfather, Archibald Potter had married a half-blood, Anne Longbottom. They both had at least one muggle great-grandparent. I believe Archibald had five muggle great, great-grandparents, and Anne had three. They didn't want to fall out of society, so they shopped around for a pureblood for their pureblood son, Samuel, my grandfather. They found Martha Bones, who only just qualified as a pureblood herself. Later, Samuel and Martha found Mary Fleamont, another pureblood born to half-bloods, to marry my father, John. Winnie also has muggle great, great-grandparents."

"Eight of them!" Winnie laughed.

"We're both purebloods," Margaret added. "But Euphemia's brother Sam married a half-blood. Their children are purebloods, but…"

"I don't care, even if I am in the Sacred Twenty-eight," John informed them. "Blood purity's a bunch of rot. You can blame the Blacks for the popularity of that nonsense. It's a way for them to believe they're better than anyone else. They're not. They just hold a barony."

"Load of tosh if you ask me," Henry said. "Didn't get included in the 'Sacred Twenty-eight' because I'm a 'muggle-lover'. You make one speech and you get tossed out of the fancy clubs."

"You'll just have to take solace in your wealth and titles," John crowed, laughing.

"Erm, wealth and titles?" Harry asked, confused. "I mean, I knew the Potters were well off, but…"

"Harry, what do you know of your family?" Fleamont wondered. "You said you grew up with your mother's sister. Did you ever learn about the Potters?"

"I know a bit about my dad," Harry admitted, "but not much else. My vault at Gringotts was pretty well stocked, but I wouldn't say I was rich."

"That would've been your trust vault," Fleamont advised. "As the last remaining Potter all vaults and titles would've been yours when you turned seventeen."

"According to the books I've read, you made quite a bit of money off of Sleakeazy Hair Potion, and your distant ancestor Linfred of Stinchcombe invented quite a few other potions," Hermione described to Fleamont.

"Yes, that's true," he agreed. "Moneymaking endeavours are usually covered. What isn't covered is what 'everyone knows', by which I mean, 'what society knows'. In 1403 our ancestor, another Henry Potter, was granted the Dukedom of Hereford by King Henry IV following the Battle of Shrewsbury. That is our family's most senior title. Prior to that, our ancestor Leofric, was made Earl of Mercia in 1030, and in 1321, our ancestor Ralph de Greystoke was created Baron Greystoke. It was said by the muggles that the Earldom of Mercia was attainted by the Conqueror, but that's not true. The Conqueror is the one who separated the magical and muggle worlds in Britain, well, in England, at least. When the 'last' Earl of Mercia, Edwin, 'died' in 1071, he began living entirely in the magical world as directed by King William. The Greystoke title came to the Potters in 1569, when Mildred, the daughter of Georges Dacre, Baron Greystoke and Baron Dacre, a witch who married Thomas Potter (our ancestor, not my great uncle), came into the title upon the death of her father. It passed to Thomas Potter's son, William. The title of Baron Dacre continued in the muggle line of succession."

"So will Harry eventually succeed to those titles now?" Hermione asked.

"Well, that's the question, isn't it?" Fleamont posed. "Harry is who Harry says he is, therefore, he's the first born of my first born, and under those rules, he should inherit. However, he's not technically of my loins—yet, anyway. I will have a son—according to you—who should inherit, and his son should inherit, which will be Harry. But should this Harry inherit, or the Harry that is to be?"

"Under the guise of the story we've created, this Harry should inherit," Hermione reasoned, glancing at the ceiling in thought. "If you claim that this Harry is your son, birthed by your wife within wedlock, he should be first to inherit. This would, of course, have the effect of skipping James Potter entirely, and dispossessing the other Harry Potter. It would not, however, seem to run afoul of inheritance rules, as your firstborn grandson would still inherit. It would also run counter to our fiction should James and not this Harry inherit." She looked down and smiled at Fleamont, proud of her deductive ability.

"You should probably adopt him legally, as well, to remove all doubt," Henry added. "Gringotts doesn't care whether he's your son or not, and they won't tell anyone."

"Tea's ready!" Mia called, popping her head in the room.

"Excellent, I'm starved," Henry proclaimed, standing. "We'll cast the Fidelius after we're done eating."

ooOOOOoo

Diagon Alley had not changed at all, in Harry's opinion. The only difference was that, as he had yesterday, he arrived by side-along apparition, rather than as he was accustomed to, via the Leaky Cauldron. Well, that and the smell. It was the same smoky smell he'd smelt the first day he was back in the past. He was beginning to associate the smell with London. Hermione had told him it was factory pollution from burning coal.

Harry was with Fleamont, Henry, and Hermione, and their destination was Gringotts. It was sunny, but unseasonably cool, only around 14º C. Harry was sporting new black wool robes that didn't feel uncomfortable. Like Fleamont and Henry, underneath his robes he had on a sharp three piece grey suit, minus the jacket. Hermione, never a fashion diva, wore a nice but plain blue cotton dress under her robes.

Looking more closely, it did seem that people were more dressed up. While the robes were the same, the shoes beneath the robes were nicer, and the few people in evidence in muggle attire were in suits and dresses. Most everyone wore hats or caps. Harry and his male compatriots were decked out in fedoras, which Harry thought looked a little silly with the robes, while Hermione had on a red beret.

As he looked, Harry noticed they were actually attracting a moderate amount of attention from a certain set of people. The glances they were getting were discreet, but wondering. Those who noticed them tended to be older and better dressed. They were usually female, though most of the shoppers were at ten in the morning on a Friday.

Henry and Fleamont didn't dally, and Harry and Hermione trailed behind them closely. They were mounting the steps to the bank before they knew it. The interior was familiar. Henry led the party to the head teller, and asked to speak with his account manager. A functionary led the group down a hall Harry had never noticed before. It was lined with doors, each mounting a simple brass plaque: Ripclaw, Kragrak, Stormbrow, Filraff… They stopped at a door bearing the name Og. Henry thanked the goblin, knocked and entered.

The office was large, but plain. There was a desk centred near the back of the room, with a side table behind it and a chair with a goblin between. There were two chairs opposite the desk, with six more pushed against the walls. The rest of the wall space was lined with file cabinets. All the furniture was a pecan coloured wood with simple fixtures. The only decoration was a blotter on the desk with a quill and pot in the corner. The room felt full, but at the same time, empty. It was an odd sensation.

"Ah, Lord Potter," the goblin said in a wheezy voice. He didn't rise, though he did replace his quill in the pot. "Please pull up chairs. What can I do for you today?" Fleamont pointed at two chairs, wandlessly summoning them. He then gestured for Harry and Hermione to sit. Harry sat outside of Fleamont, and Hermione outside of Henry.

"I need to bring these two youngsters into the family," Henry prefaced.

"Adoption?" the goblin asked.

"One, yes," Henry replied. "The other, I need to be declared her magical guardian."

"Let's handle the adoption first," the goblin said.

"I want to adopt Harry as my son," Fleamont said, gesturing to Harry.

"Who are your parents?" the goblin asked Harry.

"James Potter and Lily Potter, nee Evans," Harry replied. "But they… erm… aren't around."

"Who is your current magical guardian?" the goblin asked.

"I don't have one," Harry shrugged.

"Are you a member of the Potter family, currently headed by Lord Henry Potter?"

"Yes," Harry acknowledged.

"Then Henry Potter is your magical guardian in the absence of your parents unless another is named. Your adoption will be fairly straightforward." The goblin turned and opened the sideboard, extracting a piece of parchment. He laid it on the desk and began filling in blank spaces. "Name?"

"Harry James Potter."

"Birth date?"

"July 31, 1980."

The goblin paused, and looked up at Harry, eyeing him closely as if to catch him in a lie.

"That's impossible," the goblin finally said. "I can't complete the paperwork if you lie to me."

"It's not a lie," Harry said. He pulled up his right sleeve, exposing where 'I shall not tell lies' was etched in his very skin. "I don't lie." He stared down the goblin for a moment. "My parents were born in 1960 to Fleamont and Euphemia Potter and two muggles. I was born in 1980. My friend and I were brought back in time on June 18, 1996. There was an incident in the Department of Mysteries."

"Very well," the goblin said, then continued, mumbling something about wizards and messing with time. He reached into his desk and pulled out a small vial. "Take this, please. It will help with the rest."

Harry took the proffered vial.

"What is it?"

"Veritasserum." Harry downed it in a gulp and felt himself disconnecting from his body.

"What is your name?"

"Harry James Potter."

"What is your birth date?"

"July 31, 1980."

"Where were you born?"

"I don't know."

"In what country were you born?"

"I don't know."

"Are you a British Subject?"

"Yes."

"Where did you live?"

"Godric's Hollow, Somerset, then Little Whinging, Surrey, then Hogwarts during terms."

"Who is your father?"

"James Potter."

"Who is your mother?"

"Lily Potter, born Lily Evans."

"Do you wish to be adopted by Fleamont and Euphemia Potter?"

"Yes."

"Drink this," the goblin said, handing Harry another vial. "You're done." He turned the form around, presenting it to Henry. "Sign here." The goblin gestured to a line on the parchment and handed over the pen. He then turned the parchment to Fleamont. "Sign there." Lastly, he placed the document before Harry. "Sign here, acknowledging the adoption."

"Why did… erm… Lord Henry need to sign?"

"As your guardian and head of house, he had to relinquish guardianship of you," the goblin answered. He then sealed the document, and magically duplicated it, handing a copy to Henry and another to Fleamont. "Now the girl. I assume she's like the boy?"

"If you mean from the future, then you would be correct," Henry agreed. "Otherwise, she isn't like Harry at all, being a girl."

"Very well," the goblin said, ignoring the joke and producing another vial of veritasserum. He handed it to Hermione without comment. Once she'd drunk it, he began.

"What is your name?"

"Hermione Jane Granger."

"What is your birth date?"

"September 19, 1979."

"Where were you born?"

"West Middlesex County Hospital, London."

"Who is your father?"

"Daniel Edward Granger."

"Who is your mother?"

"Emma Anne Granger, born Emma Anne Hempstead."

"Are they magical?"

"No."

"Are you magical?"

"Yes."

"Do you have a magical guardian?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Do you wish to become the ward of Lord Henry Potter?"

"Yes."

Without further ado, the goblin handed over the antidote, and finished the form he was working on before turning it to Hermione and providing her the pen. "Sign here." Then he plucked the pen from her hand and directed the parchment to Henry, who signed as well. "Would you like to perform a blood test?"

"Yes," Henry replied, nodding.

"What's that?" Hermione asked at the same time.

"A blood test establishes to whom you are related. It is useful for inheritances, familial records, and the like," the goblin replied. He drew out a small brass dish with a needle-like spike in the centre and a blank piece of parchment which he put under the dish.

"Pierce your finger on the tip. Not much blood is needed." Hermione did so, withdrawing her hand as a small bead of blood dripped down the spike and touched the bottom of the dish. There was a small flash and puff of purple smoke. The goblin removed the dish, revealing writing on the parchment beneath. He handed it to Henry.

"You have the blood of three magical lines in your past. The most recent, and direct, is that of the Grangers, which last produced a magical in 1821. It appears the line squibbed out after that. Your great, great, great, great, great grandparent, Reginald Granger was the brother of Mary Granger, who became the wife of Arthur Dagworth. They sired the famous Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. He, of course, died without issue," Henry informed her.

"What about the other lines?" Hermione asked.

"You're related to the Doges on your father's mother's side, but that relation dates to the sixteenth century. On your mother's father's side, you're related to the Selwyns, dating to the seventeenth century," Henry said after checking. "You aren't even close to being in the line of succession for those houses."

"And I am for the Grangers?" Hermione asked.

"As the sole surviving magical descendant of Christopher Granger, the son of Reginald and the nephew of Hector Dagworth-Granger, and the Granger line's most recent magical, you have the right to claim the inheritance of both the Granger and the Dagworth-Granger lines," the goblin said.

"What happens if I make such a claim?" Hermione asked.

"Control of the Granger and Dagworth-Granger vaults are turned over to you, and you have the authority to wear the regent's rings for the houses," the goblin replied.

"Would doing so complicate our plans?" Hermione asked Henry.

"No." Henry said. "You can be both ours and theirs. Who knows who might've emigrated to the New World."

"Okay," Hermione said, turning back to the goblin. "I wish to lay claim to the estates of Granger and Dagworth-Granger."

"Very well," the goblin said. He pulled out a form, and filled in the relevant bits. "Sign here." He offered her the pen again as he turned the document around. When she was finished, he withdrew the document. "It will take a day to gather the necessary documentation," he said. "Those accounts have been dormant for some time, and the necessary ledgers are in long-term storage. They will need to be withdrawn, audited, and updated to reflect their current states before being turned over to you. We'll call you when it is time to review them and take up your status as regent."

"Thank you, Og," Henry said, standing. The others did so as well. "May your gold flow and your enemies fall." He gave a small head nod that might've been a bow, turned and left. Harry hurried after with the others.

As they stepped out into the sunlight, Harry blinked. They descended the steps into the busy street. As they did, Harry caught sight of a very familiar face that quickly turned down Knockturn Alley and disappeared. It was a face he'd last seen in 1993 standing over the body of Ginny Weasley. It was Tom Riddle.

As they passed the entrance to Knockturn, Harry looked down the winding side street. He didn't see Riddle, but he made a note: Tom Riddle might be found in Knockturn Alley. Without further interruption, the four made their way to the apparition point, and left.

ooOOOOoo

"I am Madam Marchbanks, and I'll be administering your OWLs," the elderly woman said. Harry smiled to himself. She was the same woman who'd led the team that had administered his OWLs a few days before in 1996. It was Monday, June 23, 1947.

Harry was sitting in a small room with Hermione and Neville on Level Four of the Ministry. The desks were near copies of those at Hogwarts. He had an anti-cheating quill, an ink pot, and a stack of test parchment in front of him. Henry and William Longbottom had gone to Madam Marchbanks while she was leading testing at Hogwarts and requested the three of them be allowed to test the following week. Because of who asked, she allowed it, though she was the only proctor.

"Today, you will be taking your Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL. This is comprised of a written and a practical examination. Once you are finished with your written examination, turn it in to me, and I will administer the practical examination. If I've already begun testing another student, please wait until I've finished with them to approach." Harry knew all this already. The afternoon would be Transfiguration, followed by Charms and Herbology on Tuesday. Potions and History of Magic would be on Wednesday. Wednesday night would be the Astronomy OWL. Thursday would be Divination for Harry and Neville, while Hermione sat her Ancient Runes OWL., followed by Muggle Studies, which Harry and Hermione would both sit. Friday morning would be Care of Magical Creatures, and Friday afternoon Hermione would sit her Arithmancy OWL. "You may begin."

Harry pulled the test towards him and picked up his quill. He opened the test, and grinned. Apparently, they hadn't changed the test between 1947 and 1996. The first question was exactly the same. Harry began writing.

Harry, Hermione, and Neville had spent much of the weekend studying for these tests, and would continue to do so in the evenings once the tests had finished. Thinking on it, Harry was unsure if Hermione would allow them to continue studying as they had, however. Their method was to pull the memories of themselves taking the tests and put them in the Potter family pensieve. They'd then pull the questions from the tests in the memories, discuss the answers they provided, research the questions, and come up with the correct answer. They also watched their performances in the practicals, and gave each other tips to improve. Now that they knew the tests were not only similar, but exactly the same, Harry realized that Hermione might consider that cheating. Harry didn't know what to think.

After about an hour of furious writing, Harry put his pen back in the pot, and stood. Hermione was, of course, still writing. It looked as if she were authoring a textbook on Defence. Neville, on the other hand, looked to be nearing completion, but taking some time to think things through. Harry walked up to Madam Marchbanks, and handed her his exam.

"Are you ready for the practical examination?" Harry nodded. "Ready your wand and cast the knockback jinx, followed by its counter," she instructed, indicating a practice dummy across the room. Harry began working his way through the practical, which, as expected, was identical to the one he'd undertaken the week before. "That was quite good," Madam Marchbanks commented when he was finished. "You may be seated."

"Erm, excuse me, ma'am," Harry said. "I was wondering if I might get some additional points by demonstrating more?"

"What do you mean?"

"I can cast a corporeal patronus."

"That's NEWT level," Madam Marchbanks told him. "If you can, then please do."

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM_!" A large white stag burst from the tip of his wand and began prancing around the room. It walked right up to a stunned Madam Marchbanks, who appeared to be muttering under her breath, eyes wide. Harry cancelled the spell.

"Thank you," Madam Marchbanks said, once she'd calmed herself. She made a note on her parchment. "Unless there's anything more, you may step out and await your friends."

It took another hour and a half before Hermione joined Harry and Neville in the hall.

"I think that went rather well," Hermione said brightly.

"Did you get the extra credit too, then?" Harry asked with a smirk.

"Yes," Hermione replied brushing back a loose hair. "It would've been stupid of me not to. Ready to go to lunch?"

"Yes," Harry agreed, turning towards the lifts. "So are we going to study for Charms and Herbology the same way we did for Defence and Transfiguration?"

"I don't see why not," Hermione shrugged.

"It's sort of like cheating," Neville whispered conspiratorially as Harry pushed the button calling the lift.

"I can see why you'd thing that, but I disagree," Hermione replied as they waited. "It's not my fault that they didn't bother to change the test in fifty years. We're using the best available source to study and review. Besides, we already took these tests." The door to the lift opened.

"If you're not comfortable studying with us any more, I understand," Harry offered as they walked in.

"No, no," Neville replied, pressing the button for the Atrium. "I'm alright with it. I'm quite sure I just got an O on that OWL, an EE at least. I wasn't half as confident the last time I took the test."

"Well, that's settled, then," Hermione said as the doors closed. The lift started rising.

ooOOOOoo

On Monday, June 30, 1947, Hermione was back in Gringotts. Harry was in tow, but Henry and Fleamont had other pressing business and could not attend. Late the previous week, she had received notification from Og that the papers for the Granger and Dagworth-Granger estates were ready for her review.

As Harry waited with Hermione for her chance to talk to the head teller, he reflected on the last few days, and how different they'd been. Every exam had seemed to fly by. He and Hermione had reviewed their performances over the weekend in the Potter pensieve, and she'd deemed his answers good. Harry knew from prior experience that 'good' from Hermione meant he'd be getting an O. They'd spent the rest of their time exploring Edgewood. The other major event had been a trip to Peverell House for dinner. Despite Henry and Winifred being her legal guardians everyone had agreed that Hermione would continue to live with Fleamont and Euphemia, though Henry and Winifred would remain active in her life to such an extent that it was required.

"Next," the head tell called. Hermione approached.

"I'm here to see Og," she said holding up the parchment she'd received. The teller nodded, and did something behind the counter.

"Griphook will take you to him," the hear teller informed them, indicating a goblin approaching from the side. Harry recognized the name. Griphook had been the first goblin he'd met. Harry and Hermione followed the young goblin down the now-familiar hall.

Og's office was exactly the same as it had been.

"Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, welcome," Og said, gesturing for them to take seats. "Miss Granger, I have the account ledger for you and it's been updated. Also, I have your Regent's ring." He pulled out a box and a ledger and placed them on the table. The large book looked brand new. "As you've asked that I merge the estates, there is but one ring and one ledger, however, the older ledgers for the separate estates are in storage in your vault and you can view them at any time. They will no longer be actively maintained, however. New business will be noted here." He pushed the ledger towards her. She opened and began looking through it. There were only a few pages of entries. "We updated each estate individually before merging them, so what you see here is the most up-to-date accounting for your vault. It contains monies, property, and real estate titles. The ring you'll be wearing is the Granger ring. The Dagworth-Granger ring is now in storage in your vault."

Hermione finished looking at the ledger. She closed the book without comment, and handed it to Harry. Harry looked at her questioningly and she nodded. Harry opened the book. The last number he saw was Ǥ1,262,560/4/1. He also noticed she had two properties, one in Hogsmeade and another in rural Somerset. There was a long list of paintings, books, furniture, and other odds and ends. He casually flipped back to the first page, and noticed at the top it said Baronet Granger of Godric's Hollow over a large red shield bearing a gold pomegranate plant with a small white shield in the upper left corner bearing a red hand.

He closed the book and looked up. Hermione was slipping the signet ring on her finger. There was a small flash of light and the ring magically resized to her hand as the magic accepted her.

"You are now, officially, Dame Hermione, Baronetess Granger of Godric's Hollow, Regent of the House of Granger," Og informed her.

"She's not head of house?" Harry asked.

"No, Mr. Potter," Og replied. "As a woman, she may only hold the regency for any future male issue. She is, however, entitled to the title of Baronetess and to style herself Dame. The difference comes from the source of the title. Magical houses are patriarchal by law. That law was enacted in 1071, and passed by the Wizards' Council. The Baronetcy was created in 1611 by King James I, and while it is a purely magical title, its source is muggle."

"I'm sorry, I don't follow… Muggles can grant magical titles?"

"The Monarch is the sole source of all noble titles in Britain," Og explained. "Like the Prime Minister, the Monarch is apprised of the magical world, and has some small say over its governance. The Minister for Magic communicates with His Majesty the same way he communicates with the Prime Minister. As for the titles, some, such as your family's own Barony of Greystoke, were created for muggles whose offspring later became magical, in which case the titles were listed as extinct or in abeyance in muggle records. Other titles—your family's claim to the Dukedom of Hereford is an example—were created for magicals who were serving in the muggle world under cover as muggles, in which case the title was recorded by the muggle government and then recorded as extinct later. Some titles, like your family's title to the Earldom of Mercia, were created before the separation of the magical and muggle worlds, and passed into 'extinction' upon the separation of the two worlds. Finally, many titles, such as that held by Dame Hermione, were issued only in the magical world, and not recorded by the muggle government at all."

"Ok." Harry allowed. "Can you explain how Hermione has so much money, while her parents, erm… didn't?"

"Harry, my family was well off," Hermione chided gently.

"Well, yeah, but not seven-million-pounds-well-off."

"That would come from the rules of inheritance set by the Statute of Secrecy," Og said, replacing the ring box in his desk. "The law says that inheritances cannot pass from the magical to the muggle world, only the other way around. In that way, the muggle world remains ignorant of the magical world."

"So no currency exchange?" Harry asked.

"Some small currency exchange is permitted," Og allowed. "The squib descendants of magicals are not left destitute. A large influx of new money would be suspect, however. It would be difficult to explain how a muggle suddenly had an influx of several hundred thousand or million pounds without a source. Small amounts may be transferred without question. Gringott's usual limit for transfer to the muggle world at this time is fifty thousand pounds.

"Is that why the magical titled didn't transfer as well?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," the goblin replied. "Like the vaults of money and property, the magical title is held in abeyance, waiting for the day it may be reclaimed by a magical heir."

"What authority can I exercise over my house as regent?" Hermione asked.

"Not much until you turn seventeen," Og said. "Until that time, you are restricted in your withdrawals to one hundred galleons per week. You cannot sell or buy properties, however you can access your vault and either store things there, or retrieve things from storage."

"What changes when I turn seventeen?" Hermione wanted to know.

"You have unlimited access to your accounts, and can sell and buy property," Og explained. "You can also enter, execute, or cancel familial contracts for the main Granger line, and act as an arbiter in inter-house disputes. If the family had a seat on the Wizengamot, you could vote the seats at that time, but it doesn't."

"What sort of contracts?" Harry asked.

"Marriage and house elf contracts are the most common," Og replied.

"What can't she do as regent that a head of house could do?"

"Make or break house alliances, if there were any," Og listed, "disown family members, execute contracts for cadet lines, and act as an arbiter in disputes between other houses of similar rank. In the case of House Granger, that would be houses that do not qualify as ancient or noble houses."

"Can Lord Henry do anything to House Granger while I'm his ward?"

"No. Lord Henry's concern is with your safety and well-being only, he cannot act on behalf of your house."

"Are there any house alliances or other family members?"

"No. None on record. The last magical family member died in 1892: Mr. Hector Dagworth-Granger. The Dagworths and Dagworth-Grangers have never been in a familial alliance, and the last familial alliance the Grangers were involved with was dissolved in the seventeenth century."

"You said the head of house for the Grangers wouldn't be able to act as an arbiter for a noble house, but Hermione's a baronetess, so why can't her son act as an arbiter for a noble house?" Harry asked.

"Baronets are not considered nobles under British law. While they have a landed title, they are consider commoners, much the same way that knights who are not also titled nobles are. Baronet is the highest common title," Og explained.

"Is there anything else I should know about?" Hermione asked.

"I believe that covers everything, Dame Hermione," Og replied with a toothy smile.

"In that case, we'll take our leave," Hermione said, standing. "Erm… May your gold grow and your enemies fall."

"Thank you, Dame Hermione," Og said, standing as well. "Good day to you."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5—The Ripper**

It was the first day of July, and Harry, Hermione, and Neville were camped out at an outdoor table at Florean Fortescue's. Harry was enjoying a simple vanilla bean ice cream. He was listening to Neville and Hermione, but was mostly scanning the crowd. It was nearing lunchtime, and Harry was hoping to spot a certain someone.

"When did you guys decided to do that?" Neville was asking, licking chocolate ice cream off his spoon.

"Well, we'd been tossing the idea around for a while," Hermione replied quietly. "Almost ever since we got back here. We've kept Uncle Flea and Lord Henry out of it, but Aunt Mia's agreed to buy some of the ingredients for me."

"But they know?"

"I assume so, but nobody's really said anything. It's unlikely they'll try to stop us, seeing as he's already killed, and he'll kill Potters in the future."

"I thought you were going to let Dumbledore sort it out," Neville said.

"I never agreed to that," Harry replied, shaking his head. "Dumbledore can do what he wants, but he's wrong about this. I can save hundreds of lives by taking one."

"When will the potion be ready?"

"We started stewing the lacewing flies today…"

"You started," Harry corrected absently. "Let's be honest, I bring nothing to the table."

"It was your idea!" Hermione countered.

"That I got from you suggesting it in second year," Harry countered, still crowd-watching.

"So you started today?" Neville pressed.

"Yes," Hermione said. "The full moon starts tomorrow night and goes for three nights, so we'll be collecting the fluxweed tomorrow. Aunt Mia's already shown me where. The lacewing flies take twenty-one days, and the brewing process itself takes another nearly twenty-four hours. I've access to Lord Henry's potions equipment, which includes high quality copper cauldrons. They reduce the brewing time a little. In all, we should be done on the morning of the twenty-third."

"Who're you going to go as?" Neville asked Harry.

"Dunno," Harry shrugged. "Some muggle, probably. So long as it's not somebody important, it could be anyone. Just need to make sure they're not connected to us in any way. Muggle from out of town would be hard for the Aurors to track down. I do need to find Tom first, though."

Harry checked his watch. It was three past twelve. He went back to scanning the crowd. It was the black hair that caught his attention as it passed over the heads of most of the crowd. Breaks showed his face. Riddle! He was heading from Knockturn Alley towards the Leaky Cauldron.

"Fancy a bit of lunch?" Harry asked.

"D'you see him?" Hermione guessed.

"You really are the smartest witch of your age," Harry said with a grin. "Let's go." The trio rose and made their way through the crowd to the Leaky Cauldron. It was lunchtime on a Friday, and it was packed. Harry finally found Tom wedged into a small hole at the bar. Harry plopped down at a nearby table which had not yet been bussed. Hermione and Neville joined him.

"Let me get that cleaned up for you," a girl said, appearing from the crowd. She quickly levitated the dirty dishes onto a tray in her hand. She deftly wiped down the tabletop and tucked the rag away. "What can I get you?"

"Butterbeer and a… what've you got?"

"Right now, mostly cold roast beef sandwiches, rabbit stew, vegetable soup, or sausage for the main; jacket potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, or chips for a side; and cauliflower, carrots, or greens for a veg."

"Butterbeer, a roast beef sandwich, chips, and carrots," Harry said quickly.

"Butterbeer, vegetable soup, jacket potato, and greens," Hermione decided.

"Butterbeer, rabbit stew, Yorkshire pudding, and carrots for me," Neville said after some thought.

"Right-o," the girl said, and disappeared into the crowd.

Harry made sure that he could see Riddle, and kept an eye on him. He watched as Tom downed a pint of bitters before his lunch arrived. Before Hermione or Neville could start a proper conversation in the loud pub, the food arrived. Harry bit into his sandwich. It was bland, but at least it wasn't covered in some disgusting sauce. The bread was fresh, too. He smothered his chips in ketchup, devouring them. The carrots, overcooked and soggy, went last. In all, it was a filling, if undistinguished meal, heavy in salt and low in sugar. Across the table, Hermione was still working on her soup. Neville was done with his stew, but still had half a pudding and his carrots on his plate.

Harry glanced over at Tom just as he was pushing away from the bar.

"Bugger," he swore, rising quickly, the chair scraping across the wood floor. "Wait here." He dropped two galleons on the table, guessing the price, and followed. Tom moved quickly, ducking through the wall into Diagon. Harry tried to hang back and be inconspicuous, but in the press of people in the Alley, that was difficult. He ended up following far closer than he'd've liked to, but Tom seemed oblivious. Harry lost him for a moment when Tom turned down Knockturn Alley, but when he rounded the corner, Tom was right there, still walking. It was another fifty feet before Tom turned into a shop. Harry started, looking up at the sign: Borgin and Burkes. Harry had been there before. As he walked past, he looked in and saw Tom pulling an apron off a hook behind the counter. Bingo! Harry quickly turned around, passing the shop again. Tom was straightening items on the shelves. In five minutes, he was back in the Leaky.

"So?" Hermione asked, standing. She and Neville had finished and paid, and were simply waiting for him to return.

"Works at Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn," Harry replied. "Seems to be a shop assistant."

"We're going to have to plan this carefully," Hermione observed as they wound their way over to the floo.

"That's your speciality," Harry pointed out, grabbing some floo powder. "Coming over, Nev'?"

"Sure."

"Edgewood!"

ooOOOOoo

The door creaked open and Harry and Hermione snuck in. The lights were off, and the house was still. Harry shut the door behind them quietly as Hermione crossed the kitchen to the family room where the stairs to the basement were. As soon as she opened the door, she stopped. Harry had to pull up short.

"Well, come in and sit down," Fleamont said calmly. "Might as well turn on the light as you do." The two teens complied. "Hmm. Looks like fluxweed you've got there." He pointedly looked outside at the moon before looking back. "And if I'm not mistaken, you've lacewing flies stewing in the basement. It would seem you're trying to make polyjuice potion. Care to share why?"

Harry looked at Hermione, and decided to be honest. It really availed him nothing to not do so.

"It seemed that polyjuice potion would be the best way to disguise me when I go to kill Tom Riddle."

"You've thought this through, then?" Fleamont pressed. Harry was a little surprised that he hadn't commented on the legality or morality of the fact that Harry was planning on murdering someone.

"Yes," Harry replied. "Our other options were glamour, or my invisibility cloak, and neither seemed as sure as polyjuice. I've found where Tom works, but not where he lives. Were I to wear my cloak, I'd be bumping into people in the alleys, which would arouse suspicion. Neither Hermione or I are old enough, or trained to cast glamours, so we'd need you, which might implicate you, and we want you involved as little as possible for deniability."

"So why don't you track him to his home, so you can kill him there?"

"I know my limitations, and while I can follow an oblivious man five hundred yards in a busy shopping centre without arousing suspicion, I'm not a sneaky enough person to do so when there aren't crowds. Besides, he'd probably apparate to his home, and I can't follow apparition."

"What are you going to kill him with?"

"Dunno yet," Harry shrugged. "Hermione was going to scout out the shop next week, closer to when the potion's ready. I was going to do a last look the day before, to see if there were any plausible murder weapons on sale there. If not, any kitchen knife should do."

"I expect you to firm up your plan between now and the time the potion's done," Fleamont instructed. The two teen looked at each other in disbelief.

"Uncle Flea," Hermione said at last, turning back to him. "Are you sure you're okay with all this?"

"Hermione, I've seen the pensieve memories. I heard from others and the papers what went on at Hogwarts a few years ago. I know he's killed already, and will kill again. I know what a shambles he makes of the Wizarding world. His death is necessary. Aside from the prophecy, you seem to have a plan that you've thought through to an extent. I expect you to use your heads and refine the plan, but I have faith that if you could do what you did at school, you can do this. Besides, I know you've already made this potion, so it shouldn't be a challenge for you."

"Hermione's brilliant at potions," Harry said. "I wish I was as good."

"Well, why aren't you? You are a Potter, after all."

"Our potions professor was… very confrontational with Harry," Hermione supplied. "He had a personal vendetta against him due to his prior relationship with Harry's father, which was… adversarial."

"He'd vanish my potions, hover over me, make me nervous…"

"Verbally abuse him," Hermione added.

"He did you too," Harry countered.

"Not as much, but that got you angry too."

"True."

"What were your grades like?" Fleamont wanted to know.

"As and EEs, mostly, when they weren't Ts because he vanished my potions," Harry informed him.

"I bet with a different professor you could get Os," Hermione opined. "You did really well on the OWLs this time."

"When you're done with this Riddle business, I want to review your skills, and maybe teach you a bit," Fleamont said. "What else were you taking? I didn't see the list Dad provided to the Ministry."

"My electives were Divination and Care of Magical Creatures," Harry supplied.

"Merlin's beard!" Fleamont nearly shouted, sagging. "Why on earth would you take those? Divination's useless, and Care of Magical Creatures is for those who want to go into the business. Potters have never been in the business of dragon taming or what have you. We've been potioneers, soldiers, and warders, in that order. Why aren't you taking Ancient Runes and Arithmancy?"

"The headmaster suggested I take Divination because of the prophecy, I suppose, and I liked the Care of Magical Creatures professor. Besides, my best friend said that Runes and Arithmancy were hard."

"Your friend did you no favours, and neither did the headmaster or your professor friend. We'll get you a tutor over the summer to bring you up to speed on Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. You might not get to the point you can take the OWLs before then, but certainly by next summer, if we push. You can get into an independent study at school with Ancient Runes and Arithmancy to get up to speed, and take the OWLs next summer, then we'll get you ready for NEWTs the summer after."

"Do they do independent studies at Hogwarts?" Harry asked, confused.

"If the headmaster allows it," Fleamont repeated.

"In that case, I don't think I can do it," Harry replied. "Dippet and I didn't exactly get off on the right foot…"

"Harry," Fleamont sighed, smiling, "Our system isn't the best. In fact, it's quite unfair to many people. But in this case, it can help you."

"How?"

"You're a member of an ancient and noble house. A little money, properly applied, and a request from the head, will get you almost anything."

"What?! No! That's wrong."

"Normally, I'd agree, Harry," Hermione said. "But in this case, I think that it's the perfect solution to a situation created from unintended happenstance. Besides, Dippet's a tosser."

"I suppose."

"Don't worry, Harry," Hermione added, sensing his unease with the subjects. "I'll help you. I think you'd be quite good at runes."

"We'll get you a proper education yet," Fleamont said finally. "Now drop those ingredients downstairs and it's off to bed with you both. It's late."

ooOOOOoo

"Morning, mum," Harry said, entering the kitchen.

"These came for you and Hermione," Euphemia said, retrieving some post from the counter and handing them to Harry. Harry saw they were from the Department of Magical Education. They looked very official. Harry tore his open, leaving the other on the table for Hermione. He pulled out two sheets of paper. The first was boilerplate, informing him that these were his OWL test result, that a copy were on file in the Department of Magical Education, that a copy had been forwarded to Hogwarts for their records, and how he could request replacement copies. The second page were his results. He looked at them.

Harry James Potter

Astronomy: O

Care of Magical Creatures: O

Charms: O

Defence Against the Dark Arts: O+

Divination: A

Herbology: O

History of Magic: EE

Muggle Studies: O

Potions: O

Transfiguration: O

Distinctions: Mr. Potter recorded the highest Defence Against the Dark Arts score in the history of the test.

Harry stared at the parchment, his jaw slowly dropping.

"What is it?" Euphemia asked, leaving the stove to join him. "Well, you've certainly done us proud," she said with a warm smile as she looked over his scores. "Though I don't think Flea and I can take any credit for those marks."

"How are they?" Fleamont asked after entering and noticing what was going on.

"Eight Os, an EE, and an A," Euphemia supplied, reading over Harry's shoulder. "Defence was an O+."

"Highest score in the history of the test…" Harry mumbled. "I guess our studying worked."

"You did still get an A," Fleamont chastened, sitting.

"In Divination," Euphemia huffed, moving back to monitor the sausages on the stove top. "Not like that's a _real_ subject anyway."

Hermione entered the room and saw Harry staring at the letter.

"Are those our grades?" she gasped, rushing over. She seized the form from his hands and began reading. "Oh, Harry! You got the highest score ever!" Without warning, she wrapped him up in a crushing hug. "Eight O's! I'm so proud of you." She released him, and quickly handed his results back while grabbing for her own. She ripped them out of the envelope, discarding it and the cover letter onto the table without looking at them. Harry glanced over her shoulder as she opened her grades.

Hermione Jane Granger

Ancient Runes: O

Arithmancy: O

Astronomy: O

Care of Magical Creatures: O

Charms: O

Defence Against the Dark Arts: O

Herbology: O

History of Magic: O

Muggle Studies: O

Potions: O

Transfiguration: O

Distinctions: Miss Granger gained eleven OWLs, tying for the record number achieved. Further, she has the distinction of being one of three students this year to not receive an OWL below O grade, and the only one ever to receive eleven outstanding OWLs.

"There's our Hermione, smartest witch of her age," Harry said with a smile in his tone. He sat and collected the letters and envelopes into a pile for later.

"How'd you do, dear?" Euphemia asked, piling the sausages onto a plate.

"Eleven Os, nothing less, tied for the most OWLs, and one of three to not receive a grade below outstanding in anything this year," Harry replied for her. "Plus she's the only one ever to get eleven oustandings."

"I was sure I'd get no better than an A in Arithmancy and an EE in Potions," Hermione gushed, sitting herself.

"Seriously?" Harry nearly choked. "I knew you'd pull through with Os. You're Hermione Granger, for Pete's sake. You don't do less than that." He turned to Fleamont, who was looking on with a smile of his own. "You should've seen her… Nearly every test was practically a textbook she wrote so much. Her practicals went on much longer than either myself or Neville's. She's a machine. They don't call her the smartest witch of her age for nothing."

"I guess that tells us what we need to work on," Fleamont said, glancing at Harry's grades.

"Oh?"

"History, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions."

"But we got Os in Potions…"

"But Hermione considers it a weak subject, which is saying something. We're working on History for you. No one can be too good at Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, and you haven't started studying them at all." He saw Harry's face, which was a mask of concern. "Don't worry," he consoled. "Potions will just be a brush up, so I know where you're at, and what you really know. History will be informal table talk. We'll spend most of the time on Arithmancy and Ancient Runes to try to get you a good start for the school year."

"We should get Neville involved," Hermione said thoughtfully.

"Nah," Fleamont said as Euphemia set the plates of food in front of them. "William's already got a plan for Neville. He'll have his own areas he'll need to work on. Besides, the Longbottoms aren't potioneers, they're herbologists, so William'll want to focus on that."

"I just don't want him to feel like he's alone," Hermione said.

"He isn't," Fleamont replied. "He's got family, and you'll see each other quite often as it is. Harry and Neville both have birthdays coming up, and school's not too far off. Now, tuck in. Since you already know where this Riddle bloke is, and your potion's not ready yet, we might as well get started on your studies today."

Harry merely nodded in resignation and began eating.

ooOOOOoo

Friday, July 18th found Harry and Hermione back in Diagon Alley. It was raining and warmer than usual. Thunder occasionally cracked overhead. The streets were practically deserted except for people hurrying from one shop to another. Harry and Hermione both used this to their advantage, wearing their cloaks with the hoods up as they walked from the Leaky Cauldron.

"I'll be in Flourish and Blotts," Harry said as they passed through the brick wall.

"I'll meet you there when I'm done," Hermione told him nervously. He reached out and squeezed her hand in a reassuring manner.

"You'll be fine."

"I know, but... It's… Bye." She pulled away, walking swiftly towards Knockturn Alley, leaving Harry standing in front of the book store in the rain. When she turned the corner, he turned towards the door and entered.

As he'd come to expect, the store looked substantially similar as it had fifty years in the future. Once again, the Wizarding world had disappointed him with its lack of change, or at least, lack of imagination. These people wielded magic, and they couldn't seem to pull themselves out of the nineteenth century, maybe even the eighteenth. He began browsing titles absently.

Hermione found him there fifteen minutes later. Harry could see her cloak was soaked as she lowered the hood.

"How'd it go?"

"Tom's working there alone at the moment," she replied, starting to look at titles next to him. "I asked about gift ideas. He tried to sell me several old books."

"Sounds like its right up your alley."

"You didn't see these books," she replied in a near whisper. "They were bound in human skin and had gemstones embedded in the covers. What was inside was almost worse. Some of the spells described were… illegal might be the safest word."

"Did you see any weapons around?"

"After suppressing my gag reflex, I asked about other things such as men's jewellery and accessories. He showed me several rings, a staff, a few canes, a sword, and a pair of daggers."

"Tell me about the daggers," Harry ordered.

"They're a pair—cursed, of course. They're just behind the counter on the left side next to the sword. He had a couple of other swords and knives back there as well, but he didn't recommend them to me."

"Why not?"

"I gave him a price range of fifty galleons to one hundred galleons," Hermione replied. "I think the others were more than that."

"Ah. Did he say what the curse was?"

"Paralysis. Makes it easier to kill if the enemy can't move."

"That sounds perfect."

ooOOOOoo

It was raining again. Harry was alone this time. Hermione had stayed back at Edgewood, working on the polyjuice potion. It would be ready tomorrow.

Harry splashed his way down Diagon Alley. The rain wasn't so bad, really. It wasn't falling as hard as it had the other day, and when the rain was falling, the factory smell he'd come to associate with London was somewhat less.

He turned down Knockturn Alley, subconsciously pulling the cloak tighter about him, and lowering his head so as not to be visible under his hood. As if by some miracle, he managed to make it to Borgin and Burkes without attracting attention, and entered. He cringed slightly as the bell on the door jingled. He shut the door.

Borgin and Burkes was old and appeared to be lackadaisically maintained. There was dust and warped floorboards. The curtains were old and worn. The counter had trim missing. There were cobwebs on the ceiling and light fixtures. A strange smell permeated the whole room that Harry couldn't put his finger on. The room was so packed with furniture, knick-knacks and gee-gaws that Harry had to squeeze his way between a wardrobe and a sideboard just to approach the sales counter.

A man appeared in the door to the back, and approached. He wasn't Tom Riddle. He was much older, and very wizened.

"Good afternoon, young sir," the man said. "I am Caractacus Burke, proprietor. How may I be of service today?"

"I'm going on a trip to a… less civilized part of the world," Harry began, repeating the lie he and Hermione had come up with. "It's the sort of place that's not as safe as England. Unfortunately, I will need to pass amongst muggles where a wand would attract attention. I was wondering if you had anything suitable for personal defence which was also… discrete."

"You wish to secrete a weapon upon your person?"

"That's right. Can't have people becoming alarmed as I walk through a crowd."

"I understand," Mr. Burke agreed. "If you'll step over here, I have a wide selection of knives and other bladed weapons available. How much do you wish to spend today?"

"Well, I don't have the money today," Harry replied. "It would be foolish of me to carry large amounts of currency when I couldn't know whether you had what I needed or not. But to answer your question, I'm looking to spend what it takes up to three hundred galleons."

"In that case, I have a wide selection, in which I have no doubt that you'll be able to find something to suit your needs." Mr. Burke stepped over to the section Hermione had described earlier and handed Harry a short dagger. "This is a recent acquisition, and relatively inexpensive at twenty galleons. It has no magical properties, but it does the job, and is goblin-forged."

"I'm looking for something a little more… helpful," Harry replied, handing the dagger back. "I'm not well-trained in the martial arts, and might need a bit of help in taking down a foe."

"In that case, this might be more your speed," Mr. Burke said, exchanging the dagger for a short sword. "It's imbued with a withering curse, and has runes to counter summoning. It's quite the weapon at three hundred galleons."

"That's the high end of my range," Harry said to himself for Mr. Burke's benefit. "It's fairly cumbersome and obvious. Do you have anything smaller?" He handed it back.

"This set of knives are two hundred for the pair," Mr. Burke said, handing over the knives Hermione had told him about. "I'm told there was some interest from another buyer a few days ago."

"Tell me about these knives," Harry ordered.

"They're goblin-forged with all the standard combat runes—counter-summoning, preventing self-inflicted wounds, counter-slipping, preventing catching—and it has a paralysing curse which stuns an opponent and prevents him from retaliating."

"Hmm," Harry said, not wanting to appear too eager. "I'm not really looking for two weapons. I only need one."

"I can sell them individually," Mr. Burke said. "For one hundred twenty each."

"Do you have anything between the dagger and the knives?" Mr. Burke nodded and replaced the knives in front of Harry with another dagger.

"This dagger is fifty, goblin-forged with all the standard combat runes," Mr. Burke informed him. "There is no curse associated with it, however, and it lacks the reach of the longer knives."

"Yes," Harry said. "I think… this will do. When can I return to pay for it? I'm free to do so any day this week."

"Well, I'm out tomorrow," Mr. Burke said, thinking. "But my assistant Tom's in the shop when I'm out. If you want me, I'll be back on Thursday."

"In that case, I'll be back Thursday," Harry said.

ooOOOOoo

"Bottom's up, Harry," Hermione said, closing the loo door. Harry added the hair he'd collected after leaving Borgin and Burke's the day before. He'd taken the Underground to Upminster and found an average-looking man in a nearby pub. He'd plucked a hair from his head when he wasn't looking and returned to the Leaky Cauldron to floo home.

With a grimace, Harry sniffed the potion, which had attained the consistency of used dishwater, but smelled better. He disrobed and quickly downed the potion. He'd shown Hermione the pensieve memory of him obtaining the hair, and together they'd found some clothes that would fit the new Harry. He turned to the new robes and put them on, exiting the Porcupine Pub's loo looking like a wizard version of Miles Green of Upminster, though Harry didn't know the man's name.

"Remember," Hermione said glancing down the corridor, "You've got an hour." Harry nodded and walked quickly to the Leaky Cauldron. He passed through and made for the entrance to Diagon Alley. The alley was fairly clear of traffic, as the rains persisted over London. He ducked down Knockturn and wasted no time entering Borgin and Burke's.

As before, the bell rung. As Harry approached the counter, Tom Riddle appeared from the back with a calculated smile on his face. Harry was, as before, otherwise alone.

"How can I help you, sir?"

"I'm looking for a unique gift for a friend," Harry replied. "This gentleman's a connoisseur of rare artefacts. He likes jewellery, watches, and edged weapons."

"And what are you looking to spend?"

"One to three hundred."

"Excellent," Tom said. "I'm sure we can meet your needs. If you'll step over here, I can show you some of our edged weapons. They're the most impressive available." He handed Harry the pair of knives Mr. Burke had showed him the other day. Harry pulled one of the knives out of its sheath and looked at it. He held it up to the light, and saw the runes carved into the base of the blade. He lowered the knife back to the counter, but didn't release it.

"Can I see that sword over there?" Harry asked, pointing to a rapier immediately behind Tom.

"I see you're quite the discerning customer," Tom said as he turned. "This is a very rare piece." He never got to finish his commentary on the rapier. Harry thrust out with the knife, stabbing Tom in the back. Without even a grunt, Tom dropped to the floor.

Harry ran around the counter where he saw Tom laying on the floor, unable to move, blood draining onto the floor. The man was paralysed. He wasn't breathing, couldn't gasp. Even his heart wasn't beating. Harry pulled the knife across Tom's throat, like he'd seen done in the movies. Blood flowed out there as well. If Tom had been able to breathe it would've sprayed as Harry had severed the windpipe as well as the carotid artery.

Harry picked up an axe that was leaning in a corner. It looked like the kind which might have been used in beheadings in the middle ages. Whether true or not, Harry put it to that use, swinging the axe over his head and bringing it down on Tom's neck. He severed the neck in two swings, watching as the light left Tom's eyes.

He replaced the axe in the corner after cleaning the blade. Harry then moved over to where Tom lay. He picked up Tom's wand. "_Evanesco_." He waved Tom's wand, vanishing the body. He repeated the spell for the head. A quick "_Scourgify_" got rid of the blood on the floor. Another took care of the counter, and a third the knife. Harry then replaced the knives where they'd been on the shelf.

Finished, he went back to the front side of the counter. There, he cast "_Tergeo_" to remove the blood from his clothes, shoes, and skin. Once done, he snapped the wand in half, putting the pieces in his pocket.

Finished, Harry collected himself with a deep breath, turned, and left the store, drawing his hood over his head before exiting.

It was a quick walk, with few people to see him. Harry thanked whatever higher power existed for the rain. Anyone who looked hard enough would've seen the wrong man anyway.

He passed through the Leaky Cauldron, glancing at the table Hermione was sitting at, and hurrying out the front door. He wanted to have as little connection with this as possible. He returned to the Porcupine Pub, just a block away from the Leaky Cauldron, and waited in the loo for the potion to wear off. He spent the time snapping Riddle's wand into more pieces, and binning them.

Eventually the potion wore off, and Harry changed quickly into his own clothes, leaving the robes in the loo's bin on top of the wand bits. He then went to a nearby book store, browsing for about a quarter hour and purchasing a gift for Hermione. Five minutes later, he joined Hermione at the Leaky. While they enjoyed lunch together before flooing back to Edgewood Harry presented her with her gift. They managed to keep their conversation to neutral topics.

"I'm so glad you're safe," Hermione said, wrapping him up in a hug as soon as the floo deposited Harry in the family room. Harry reflexively hugged her back, and was surprised when she kissed his cheek too. When she pulled back, she looked Harry straight in the eye. "Is he dead?"

"As a door nail," Harry confirmed.

"Good. Now we can get on with our lives."

"You can," Harry said as he sat. "My life can actually start."

"Oh, are you lot back then?" Euphemia asked as she bustled in. "Flea told me to tell you that when you were done with your caper, to go down to the Department of Mysteries. He and his coworkers want to debrief you about the future."

"Excellent," Harry said, rising. "I always wanted to be the centre of attention." Hermione could hear the sarcasm practically dripping from every word.

"Come on, Harry," Hermione replied brightly, grabbing his hand and the floo powder at the same time. "At least this time it's for something you did, and not for something you don't even remember."

"Yay…" Came the unenthusiastic reply.

ooOOOOoo

Harry and Hermione were once again back in Og's office at Gringotts. It was becoming routine, as they'd spent many Monday mornings there.

"What can I do for you both?"

"I need to contract some services, and Lord Henry said I should come to you."

"And which services would those be?"

"I need to dispose of the carcass of a basilisk." The goblin's eyebrows went up at that.

"Are you the owner of the carcass?" He seemed sceptical.

"By right of slaying," Harry replied.

"And where is this beast?"

"Hogwarts," Harry supplied. "In the Chamber of Secrets. Unfortunately, it's only accessible if you are a parseltongue."

"And you are a parseltongue?"

"Yes. I don't know of any others."

"That complicates matters," the goblin replied, scratching his chin.

"Does that mean it is impossible?"

"No, no," the goblin said quickly. "It merely means we have to perform the harvesting during the school year, so that you'll be available to provide us access. It also means we'll have to treat with Headmaster Dippet, who is not our friend."

"Nor mine," Harry said with a wry smile.

"It is of no moment," the goblin said dismissively. "We will be able to provide you the services you require. So to business. We provide these services on two payment schedules, either a fixed rate for the entire thing, or an hourly rate. The hourly rate is one hundred galleons per hour, per worker, and the fixed rate is five thousand galleons for the work of five goblin harvesters."

"How long does it take to harvest a basilisk?" Hermione wanted to know.

"It depends on the size of the beast," the goblin replied, speaking to Hermione. "An average ten foot basilisk takes two workers three hours. That includes draining the blood, bile, and venom, flensing, filleting the meat, and harvesting the organs and bones."

"I'll take the fixed rate," Harry said quickly. "The basilisk I killed was a bit bigger than average. I don't like doing the maths, but I think that'd be cheaper to do the fixed rate."

"Very well," the goblin said, sounding like he was certain he was getting the better end of the deal. "Would you also like us to purchase the components off you? Again, we can pay you a fixed rate…"

"I think I'd rather sell by the pound for solids, ounce for liquids, and square foot for skin," Harry replied.

"Our standard offering is fifty galleons per pound for meat, one hundred for organs except the liver, two hundred for the liver, one hundred galleons per ounce for blood, two hundred for bile, seven hundred for venom, and five hundred galleons per square foot for skin."

"I would like to sell everything but the skin, with an option to sell parts of the skin later. I can make more than you're offering on the market," Harry replied. "I don't think I want to give it up for less than fifty percent more than you're asking." Both Henry and Fleamont had told him that goblins appreciate a shrewd businessman, and that by haggling, even a bit, he would gain a small piece of their respect.

"I suppose we could go as high as ten percent higher…" the goblin suggested.

"Forty percent on everything but the meat," Harry countered.

"We really can't do better than twenty percent if you're willing to go standard price on the meat," the goblin said.

"Twenty-five percent and standard on the meat," Harry demanded.

"I suppose we could go so high as that," the goblin replied, attempting to hid a grin, and largely succeeding. Harry could see the sides of his mouth twitching as they shook hands.

"Deal." Harry smiled his own smile, knowing how much money he'd just made.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6—Old School**

The scarlet steam engine stood gleaming before them, belching smoke and venting steam. All around, the various familial groups stood on the platform bidding farewell to their youngsters. Harry and Hermione stood there with Fleamont and Euphemia, trunks ready, set to start their sixth year at Hogwarts.

"Be good, now," Euphemia encouraged.

"Yes, mum," Harry replied with a grin. "I'll write often." Harry hoisted the empty cage he was holding. Fleamont and Euphemia had gifted him with a post owl on his birthday. It was a huge female European Eagle-owl, with captivating yellow eyes that he'd named Boudica. He'd had her fly ahead, as she would've been positively cramped in the cage, which Fleamont had then shrunk for transit.

"You keep an eye on him, Hermione," Euphemia ordered.

"Yes, Aunt Mia," Hermione echoed, also grinning. Together, they had much to be happy about. They'd spent the last two months steeped in magic, specifically Potions, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes. Harry proved adept at all three, surprising himself. History of Magic was likewise of interest to him when not taught by an emotionless ghost. Harry would be starting off year six taking independent studies in both Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. These classes, while not usual, had been cleared by both professors at Fleamont's request, and following a small donation to the school, which Harry understood to be something of a bribe to Headmaster Dippet. Now, they were headed back to school, sort of. It both was and was not the school they'd left. Physically, it was the same building, but a sorting awaited them, and their only friend starting out would be Neville. In a large measure, it was a chance at a fresh start after Harry's turbulent first five years.

As if by thought, Neville appeared, grasping his trunk.

"Ready to go?" he asked cheerfully. The change in Neville was like night and day from his first year. Gone was the shy and bumbling chubby child, and in his place was a happy and confident well-built young man. He had family, and from correspondence and frequent visits, Harry knew he'd been learning magic as well. With his newfound confidence and a new wand, Neville had done very well on his O.W.L.s, scoring outstandings in Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Defence, Herbology (of course), and Transfiguration. He'd gotten exceeds expectations in Astronomy and Potions, and acceptables in Divination and History of Magic.

"Sure, Nev'," Harry said cheerfully. Harry and Hermione got hugs from Fleamont and Euphemia, and Harry led the trio onto the waiting carriages. They secured a compartment near the middle of the train and began stowing their luggage.

"Does this feel like anyone else's first time on the train as well?" Hermione asked as she sat, looking out the window at the platform. Harry glanced down at his standard untrimmed robes and shrugged.

"Sort of?" He looked over at the compartment door and saw other students filing past. Some would glance into the compartment, but most just passed by the closed door.

The trio passed the time reminiscing about their other trips on the Express, with Harry particularly glad that Draco Malfoy would no longer be an issue. Hermione gently ribbed Neville by expressing her gratitude that she wouldn't have to run up and down the corridors looking for a lost toad. Neville had the good grace to blush before pointing out that that was when they had first met Harry. At that moment the compartment door opened revealing some other students who looked about their ages.

"Who're you lot?" a blonde Hufflepuff girl asked.

"I'm Hermione Granger. This is Harry Potter, and this is Neville Longbottom."

"How old are you?" a chestnut haired Gryffindor boy asked, looking at their plain robes.

"We're rising sixth years," Neville said.

"So're we," the girl said. "How come you're starting new?" She pulled at her uniform, tie which was striped yellow and black.

"We were home-schooled," Harry said, following the story they'd come up with. "We're the subjects of a true prophecy, and couldn't attend school until now."

"What prophecy?" the boy asked.

"Not allowed to say," Hermione replied. "Secrecy oath."

"I've never heard of a prophecy like that," the girl replied, moving to lean against a compartment wall just inside the door. Hermione shrugged in reply.

"You know about the sorting?" the boy asked, also moving into the car.

"Yep," Harry replied. "We're all hoping for Gryffindor."

"Good choice," the boy replied nodding. "I'm John King, by the way."

"Oh, and I'm Kathleen Hall," the girl added. "Would you mind if we sat with you?"

"Not at all," Hermione replied. Harry couldn't remember ever hearing of these people before.

"Where are you from, then?" John asked.

"Well, my family's from Ontario, Canada, but I've lived with Harry for ages. He lives in Derbyshire, but his ancestral home is in Oxfordshire," Hermione replied easily.

"I'm from Cambridgeshire," Neville added. "How about you lot?"

"We're both from London," Kathleen replied. "Ancestral, you say? Are you an ancient house, then?"

"Ancient and Noble," Harry replied. "We both are." He indicated Neville.

"You're a pureblood, then?" John asked cautiously.

"Yeah, but I'm not a supremacist or anything. I mean, my best friend here is a half-blood."

"Oh, I thought she was your girlfriend," Kathleen said. Harry and Hermione looked at each other and blushed.

"No," Harry replied. "I don't have a girlfriend. Never really have."

"You're not light in the loafers, are you?" John asked.

"What?" Harry replied.

"He means gay," Hermione whispered to him.

"Oh! No! I like girls." Hermione chuckled as Harry squirmed.

"Well, stay away from Kathleen, she's mine," John informed them, as he put his arm around her. Just then the train gave a lurch as it began its journey. Immediately after, the door opened again and another blonde Hufflepuff entered.

"Nearly missed the train," the girl said by way of explanation, then she noticed the other three. "Oh, hello." She sat across from John, who was closest to the door. This put her next to Neville. "I'm Marina Abbott. It's nice to meet you." She held out her hand.

"Neville Longbottom," he replied graciously. "Are you of the Edworth Abbotts?"

"Yes," Marina replied. "I assume you're of the Long Hall Longbottoms?"

"I am. William Longbottom's my father."

"Strange that you're just now starting school," Marina observed.

"As a subject of a prophecy, I was restricted to being schooled at home, as were my friends, until the prophecy had been borne out. I am now free to continue my education at Hogwarts."

"Interesting," Marina said. "Hufflepuff?"

"Gryffindor," John interjected. "Hopefully."

"You never know until you put on the hat," Marina volley back.

"True," John allowed.

"These are my friends: Harry Potter and Hermione Granger."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintances," Marina said, waving to them. "You're not of the Peverell Potters, are you?"

"I live at Edgewood," Harry replied, trying to sound as proper as Neville had. "Fleamont Potter's my father."

"Gran and Gramps had mentioned something about you lot!" she said, suddenly remembering. "Said it was all hush-hush." Harry nodded and winked at her.

"I suppose that makes you my cousin?" Harry asked.

"I wondered why we never saw much of Aunt Mia," Marina said, either playing along or coming to her own conclusions. "I guess this explains it."

"I guess," Harry replied.

"And Hermione?" Marina said, focusing on her. "I don't recall any Grangers since the Dagworth-Grangers."

"A distant relation," Hermione replied. "My family immigrated to Canada in the late eighteenth century, following the Seven-Years War. I'm living with Harry because of the prophecy. My mum is a distant Potter relation."

"Interesting," Marina observed. "So are you…"

"Pureblood?" Hermione asked. "No. Half-blood. Both my parents are magical, but my grandparents are half and half."

"I was going to say boyfriend and girlfriend…"

"No. I don't have a boyfriend, and before you ask, I'm not a lesbian," she sighed jokingly, then looked at Harry. "I like boys… Some more than others." Harry turned and looked at her questioningly, then nodded to himself.

"Erm… Hermione, in that case, would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me the next time?" Hermione looked startled. She quickly glanced around at the others in the compartment before settling back on Harry. She was very red.

"Can I have a word with you out in the corridor for a moment?" she asked, practically dragging him out the door. She looked up and down the corridor. It was mostly empty. When the door shut, she rounded on him. "What the bloody hell was that!?" she whispered fiercely.

"Erm… I was asking you out? I thought that's what you wanted."

"Wrong time!" she said a little louder. "Honestly, Harry, you have no sense of social cues. I mean, I'm not exactly a social butterfly, but for God's sake, asking me out in front of three people we've just met? What were you thinking?"

"I guess I was thinking, jeez, if everyone else can see we should be dating, what the heck's wrong with me?"

"So you asked me out of some social obligation?"

"No! I'm not stupid, you know. I see mum and dad looking at us. I see when other adults glance at us when we're holding hands or sitting together. Maybe neither of us knows what exactly's going on, but even I can see that we act like we're dating."

"Have you been obliviating me after the snogging sessions?" Hermione asked sharply. Harry laughed.

"Only if you've done too, and I wish you wouldn't. My one experience aside, I hear it's pretty great." Hermione smiled at last. "But when I think about it, I can't think of anyone else I'd want to be my girlfriend."

"The fact that you know no other girls in 1947 not withstanding…"

"Still. Even before, I was never going to be Cho's boyfriend. There wasn't anyone but you."

"Fine. But can you see why I'm upset?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed. "I mean, it did seem like you were fishing for it, but I can see how just turning 'round and asking you is a little brain-dead."

"Tell you what… ask me again in a week. See if you still feel the same, and I'll give you my answer."

Just then, a large boy in Slytherin robes cleared his throat behind Hermione. "Clear the aisle, girlie," he said roughly.

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked nonplussed, turning towards him.

"You heard me." He pushed past, dragging his trunk. Hermione was knocked roughly into the door.

"Oi!" Harry shouted when the Slytherin laughed and didn't stop. "What's your malfunction?"

"Huh?" the boy asked, stopping at last, and turning. "Sorry, I'm not used to overgrown firsties asking their betters questions. Now, can I direct your attention to the floor, where it belongs?"

"What's your name?" Harry demanded.

"Mulciber. But you can call me sir."

"How old are you, Mr. Mulciber?"

"I don't like to be questioned by my inferiors," Mulciber replied. "I don't owe you anything."

"And what makes you think we're in any way your inferiors?" Harry shot back.

"No proper pureblood would be airing their dirty linen in public like you two," Mulciber scoffed.

"Mulciber, eh?" Harry asked, turning to Hermione. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't seem to recall any Mulciber amongst the Ancient and Noble Houses, do you?"

"I do believe you're right, Harry," Hermione replied.

"I'm more pureblood than most," Mulciber replied.

"Outstanding, so all your great grandparents are magical, congratulations!" Harry snickered. "That means fuck-all to me, Mr. Mulciber."

"Who the fuck are you to question me?"

"I am Harry Potter, son of Fleamont Potter, grandson of Lord Henry Potter. My magical pedigree is beyond question, traceable back to before the Roman conquest. That's who the fuck I am."

"Everything alright here?" a Ravenclaw asked, approaching them. A silver prefect badge gleamed on her chest.

"We were just going back into our compartment," Harry informed her. He went to open the door.

"You've just made yourself a powerful enemy, Potter!" Mulciber shouted.

Harry poked his head back out the door. "Enemy? Perhaps. Powerful? I think not." Then he closed the compartment door with a firm click.

ooOOOOoo

Harry, Hermione, and Neville were all required to ride the boats across the lake with the First Years. Rather than be humiliated by having to associate himself with 'ickle firsties', Harry chose to view the exercise as a means of reminiscing about when the world was full of wonder for him, and he was innocent enough to be caught up in the excitement of joining the magical world.

They were met by Professor Dumbledore, who like McGonagall had in their own first year, led the new students into the Great Hall. The trio of rising sixth years hung to the back of the pack, and would be sorted last. The hat sung its song, as was its want, and thus the sorting began. With a bit of time before his own sorting, Harry started looking around. It seemed that there were double the number of students attending compared to when he attended, a fact he would confirm later when he observed there were originally ten Gryffindor sixth year boys and ten Gryffindor sixth year girls. He was jarred out of his observations and musings as Dumbledore called out a familiar name.

"McGonagall, Minerva!"

Harry peered at the front of the room, where a tiny wisp of a girl with straight black hair nearly hidden under her hat clambered onto the stool and had the Sorting Hat placed on her head. Hermione and Neville were likewise enraptured seeing the daunting and stern future head of Gryffindor as an eleven year old girl. She was obviously nervous, and as the minutes stretched on, became increasingly so. Harry had not heard that McGonagall had been a hatstall. It was fascinating.

Eventually, Harry tired of simply watching. He glanced around and saw that others had begun to mutter. There was a low current of noise in the room. Suddenly, Harry was seized by an urge to engage in a bit of mischief. Without giving it too much thought, Harry cupped his hands around his mouth and called out.

"C'mon Hat, put her in Gryffindor!"

Nearly every head in the Great Hall snapped around to see who had disrupted the proceedings. What they saw was a messy-haired sixth year awaiting his own sorting. Dumbledore looked about to say something but was interrupted when the Sorting Hat made its pronouncement mere moments after Harry's request.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

If Dumbledore did say something, Harry didn't hear it as the Gryffindor table exploded with applause, both for their newest member and for Harry, who it seemed could command the hat.

Once things quieted down, the sorting resumed, and under the somewhat stern eye of Hermione, Harry remained silent until it was their turn. Hermione mounted the seat, and Dumbledore placed the hat upon her head. Thirty seconds later the hat shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Neville stepped up next. The hat went down, and a short time later the hat called, "GRYFFINDOR!" again. Neville went to join Hermione at the house table.

Harry then went forward, the last to be sorted. He sat on the stool facing the hall. It felt lower than it had when he was eleven. Dumbledore placed the hat on his head.

"Hello again, Mr. Potter," the hat projected into his mind.

"Hello Hat," Harry thought in reply. "Gryffindor, please."

"Yes, I had quite the conversations with your two compatriots." The hat paused as it started searching Harry's thoughts and memories. "Hmm… you've been busy since we last met. Murder! My, my. What else? So I wanted to put you in Slytherin, did I? I can see that. Loyal to a fault, as well. Nearly perfect OWLs… But the bravery is what stands out. Best put you where you belong." The hat opened its mouth… "GRYFFINDOR!"

As Harry hopped off the stool, Dumbledore tapped him on the shoulder. Harry looked back as he prepared to head for the Gryffindor table.

"That will be five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter," he said softly. Apparently, the professor hadn't forgotten his outburst earlier. Harry nodded and fled to the seats next to Hermione and Neville.

Dippet rose and gave the usual start of term announcements. It seemed the Forbidden Forest had been forbidden for years before Dumbledore started saying it. Fanged Frisbees were not yet a problem, apparently, as Dippet didn't mention those. He did mention decorum, and politeness, and that failure to conduct one's self with both in class and in the halls, would be punished. He glared at Harry as he said it.

When the announcements were finished, the feast began, and conversations erupted all around him. John King was sitting nearby, and engaged Harry immediately.

"How'd you get the hat to put that girl in Gryffindor?"

"I dunno," Harry shrugged, loading his plate with mashed potatoes. "I just got tired of waiting my turn."

"That's a good one!" another boy laughed. "I'm George Wood."

"Wood?" Harry asked, reaching for the peas. "You wouldn't happen to play quiddich, would you?"

"Oh, no! Don't get him started, Harry," John moaned around a mouthful of food.

"I'm the captain this year," John replied as Harry started eating. "You know about the house teams, right?"

"Yeah," Harry replied after swallowing. "Got any openings this year?"

"We've got a pretty good team," George replied. "Most of them are returning players from last year. We do have vacancies at both Chaser and Beater, though."

"That's too bad," Harry said, somewhat sadly. "I play seeker."

"Well, we're always on the lookout for reserve players," George said. "You should try out anyway."

"I will do, thanks," Harry replied with a smile. Next to him, Hermione was deep in conversation with two girls across from them. On Hermione's far side, Neville was also busy being introduced to the nearby Gryffindors. On the whole, it was one of the more enjoyable welcoming feasts Harry could remember.

ooOOOOoo

Gryffindor tower was unchanged. The common room, dorm rooms, and water closets were substantially the same, though there were now twelve beds in the sixth year boys' dorm. Harry and Neville got to know them as they prepared for bed.

Nearest the door was Norman Bell, a boy Harry could only assume would be related to Katie Bell. Norman was a chaser on the quidditch team. He had sandy hair, freckles, and was built like an athlete.

Next to him was David Brown. Harry could definitely see the resemblance to Lavender. He shared her pale skin and curly brown hair. Harry stayed away from David, as he obviously was a firm believer in cologne and his chosen brand made Harry's eyes water.

Peter Clark was next; a muggle born. Harry didn't know what to make of Peter. He was wispy, with neat black hair and blue eyes. He was taller than everyone else in the room, and didn't talk much. John's bed was next.

James Green was a half-blood from London, who had lived muggle, and been evacuated to Yorkshire during the Blitz. He talked fast with an obvious London accent. He was an Arsenal fan, with posters hanging above his bed. John King slept next to him. Neville's bed was next.

After Neville was Kenneth MacDonald, from Lochaber, Scotland, a part of Clan Macdonald of Clanranald. His highland accent was nearly unintelligible to Harry, but his messy black hair was akin to Harry's own. He rooted for the Pride of Portree, and had posters up proclaiming that fact.

Thomas Martin took the next bed. A muggle born, Thomas had grown up in Oxford, where his father worked at a book shop. Thomas had brown hair, glasses, and wore a bow tie. Harry's bed was next to his.

Robert Scott, from Edinburgh, came after Harry. He was a red-head, with a button nose and freckles. He looked like a Weasley, or would have if it weren't for his distinctive nose.

Donald Stewart, from Glasgow, bedded next to his countryman. He had brown hair and brown eyes. Except for his accent, he was bog standard.

George Wood took the last bed on the other side of the door. He had Puddlemere posters behind his bed.

As Harry settled down for bed that first night, he wondered what the future would bring.

ooOOOOoo

Morning brought breakfast, and Harry received his schedule from Dumbledore. He looked at it. Mondays had him attending his Arithmancy independent study first period, followed by his Ancient Runes independent study. Hermione, in the normal sixth-year classes would be reversed, with Ancient Runes first and Arithmancy second. He would rejoin Hermione and Neville for double Defence followed by lunch. After lunch they had double Potions, and Care of Magical Creatures.

Tuesdays, like this day, were double Herbology followed by double Charms, with History of Magic, Alchemy, and double Transfiguration after lunch. After dinner they were subjected to Astronomy. Wednesday's schedule started with the same Ancient Runes and Arithmancy classes Monday had, but segued into two periods of Alchemy. Afternoon was the kiss of death: double History of Magic, followed by Care of Magical Creatures. Thursday was a carbon copy of Tuesday, but without the Astronomy. Friday was a carbon copy of Monday.

"This looks awful," Harry observed, brandishing his schedule. "History three days in a row right after lunch!"

"It isn't so bad, Harry," Hermione replied thoughtfully. "It makes more sense than some of our other schedules did."

"I wonder who we're paired with," Neville pondered.

"These are NEWT level, so they should be everyone who got an acceptable or better, regardless of house," Hermione told him.

Harry learned Hermione was wrong when they joined the other Gryffindor sixth year students pursuing their NEWT in Herbology, when they were joined by the sixth year Hufflepuffs. Despite being a NEWT class, there were easily twenty students, which was considered a full class. When he asked John about it later, he confirmed that classes were generally twenty students, and that OWL students took the classes with only their house, since there were, on average, twenty students per year per house.

ooOOOOoo

Quidditch trials were scheduled for the first Friday back, and George had booked the pitch in anticipation. Harry, clutching his new Cleansweep 4, reported to the pitch. Hermione and Neville accompanied him, planning to watch in the stands. They weren't the only ones. The stands were speckled with Gryffindors, and some from the other houses, who'd come to watch the fun.

"Alright, you lot!" George shouted to the team members and prospective team members on the pitch. "If you were on the team last year, over there." He pointed to his left. "If you want to be a beater, over there." He pointed to his right. "If you want to be a chaser, over there." He pointed behind him. Harry was the only one who didn't move. "And you want to try out for reserve seeker, right?"

"I want to try out for seeker," Harry replied. "If reserve's all that's open, then that's fine."

"Let's get you out of the way first, then," George said. "Hey, Geoff, you ready to go?"

"You bet!" a boy Harry recognized as a seventh year called out.

"Alright," George said, turning to Harry. "Geoff's the best I've seen since I've been on the team. I'm going to release the snitch, and if you can last ten minutes against him, you're on the team."

"What if I catch the snitch?" Harry asked.

"You won't," Geoff replied.

"If you do, you get Geoff's spot, and he moves to chaser," George offered. "But, like he said, you won't. Sheila, here will monitor you two, while I run the beater trials." A bubbly brunette mounted her broom.

"Whenever you're ready boys!" she said, lifting off.

"Mount up," George ordered. Harry did, and pushed off, watching the box. When he and Geoff were both about twenty feet up, George opened the box and the snitch flew off.

Both Harry and Geoff were after it in a flash. Harry pushed his Cleansweep to its limit, which, considering he'd been on a Firebolt wasn't much of a challenge for him. The broom was fairly fast compared to other brooms available in 1947, and had excellent manoeuvrability, even compared to more modern brooms. This allowed him to keep annoyingly close to Geoff, and eventually pull even.

Up and down, left and right, around bystanders: the snitch was merciless. It always seemed just out of reach to both boys. At about the five minute mark, both boys lost sight of the snitch when a bludger from the position trials got away from one of the prospective beaters, forcing the two seekers to duck out of the way.

Having lost sight of the snitch, Harry pulled up. Geoff followed suit a few feet later. Harry then gained a bit of altitude, and began circling, looking for the ball. Geoff did so as well, flying somewhat lower than Harry.

As he circled, Harry began thinking. He wracked his brain for the birthdate for various seeker moves. Several of them had been invented between 1947 and 1996, he just needed to remember which ones might come as a surprise to Geoff. Finally, he settled on one he'd performed before.

Without warning, he dove for the ground, pushing his broom straight past Geoff, moving his head as though he were tracking a snitch. He'd played around with the broom a bit after he'd gotten it, so he knew its characteristics and its limits. He didn't look back. He didn't need to see if Geoff was following him. If this didn't work, it was still good practice, and he didn't want to give the game away.

As he closed in on the ground his heart rose in his throat. He hoped he didn't time this wrong. With inches to spare, Harry pulled up, skimming the grass before rising just enough to shoot over the heads of nearby prospectives waiting their turn to try for beater. Behind him, Harry heard a sickening crunch. He looked back and saw Geoff rolling to a stop after bouncing several times on the turf of the pitch.

Without looking back a second time, Harry rose back into the sky, and resumed looking for the snitch. As he was flying around, he also searched the crowd. He saw Hermione and Neville sitting together in the company of Marina Abbott and a few other Hufflepuffs. He also saw little Minerva McGonagall sitting alone high up in the stands. She appeared to be studying, taking notes in a small book.

He found the snitch a few minutes later, and plucked it out of the sky after chasing it for almost two minutes. It had been a tough chase for this snitch, even flying solo, but he'd done it. Snitch in hand, he landed on the pitch near where George and Sheila were standing next to Geoff, who was sitting up next to his shattered broom.

"What the bloody hell was that?" George shouted.

"A misdirection," Harry replied, handing the snitch to George.

"You could've killed him!"

"No, he could've killed himself," Harry replied calmly. "I didn't force him to follow me. He merely assumed that I'd seen the snitch and blindly chased after me. It allowed me to search for the snitch unmolested and without having to worry about the competition."

"He's right," Geoff said, wincing. "Bloody brilliant. Any more tricks up your sleeve?" While George was upset, Geoff was merely in pain. Sheila seemed more concerned with Geoff's well-being than anything else, and didn't pay Harry much attention.

"A few," Harry replied.

"Take me by the hospital wing, tell me all about them, and I promise I won't be absolutely crushed that you're the new starting seeker instead of me."

"Deal. How about I throw in a new broom as well, since yours seems to have bit it."

"Ta, Harry."

Harry, with Sheila, helped Geoff to his feet and led him away from a still steaming George.

ooOOOOoo

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked when they ran into each other in the hall after he'd dropped Geoff and Sheila at the hospital wing.

"Going back to practice," Harry replied.

"I meant, what were you thinking pulling a Wronski Feint?"

"Look, I know it was a bit dangerous, but I know what I'm doing."

"No, you idiot! I mean it hasn't been invented yet!"

"I know," Harry replied easily. "That's how I knew it would work. Oh, wait… You're angry that I've now 'invented' it, aren't you."

"Now you've got it!"

"I thought we weren't going to worry about our actions changing the future, or did I off Tom in our original timeline's past as well?"

"Fine," she huffed. "Great, now I have to remember to call it the 'Potter Feint.'"

"I'm sure you'll be fine." He threw an arm around her and drug her back out to practice with a grin on his face.

ooOOOOoo

Saturday the sixth saw Harry up early, and again the company of Hermione and Neville. They'd all gone down to breakfast, and eaten mostly alone. Few students chose to eat breakfast on Saturdays, especially before nine, opting to have a lie-in instead. Harry didn't have that luxury, as he had work to do.

Promptly at eight, Harry and his friends were standing in the entrance hall, when the doors opened and five goblins trooped in. They were carrying rucksacks, and wearing leather aprons.

"You are Harry Potter?" one of the goblins asked.

"I am. You're here to harvest the beast?" The goblin nodded in reply. "May I show you the way?" The goblin again merely nodded.

Taking this as acceptance, Harry led the way to the second floor lavatory, whose sole occupant was the ghost of Myrtle Warren. He opened the sink, and led the goblins, Hermione, and Neville down into the Chamber.

Reaching the bottom, Harry waited for the others, then opened the Chamber itself. The goblins scrambled inside, and drew up short, stunned by the size of the carcass.

"This will take more than today," the lead goblin said after standing there gob smacked for a minute. "I hope you didn't contract for the hourly option."

"I didn't."

"A wise wizard." The goblin turned to the others and spoke quickly in gobbledygook. They began moving, surrounding the carcass and pulling tarps from their bags. The lead goblin turned back to Harry. "We will work until eight o'clock this evening. You will need to come get us at that time. Unless you wish to stay."

"We'll be staying for a bit, but we'll be leaving long before you'll be ready to," Harry replied. "Could you leave one of the fangs filled with venom at the base of the statue? I might have need of it. The skin can be transferred to the Potter vault for tanning. I'll return for you at eight." He'd talked with Hermione over the summer. There was no way to know where the diary was, or if Riddle had created any other horcruxes. Harry assumed that once found, he could destroy the diary the same way he had in the past.

"Very well," the goblin shrugged. It was of no concern of his how much of the carcass was sold to Gringotts, after all. He was merely tasked with dismantling in, and retrieving those parts to be sold.

"Ok, you lot," Harry said, turning to Hermione and Neville. "Let's reveal the Chamber's secrets." With that, the trio fanned out, conducting a more thorough search of the chamber. Harry and the others ignored the statue and the two known exits, focusing on revealing hidden doors or passages elsewhere. While he remembered that Dumbledore's revealing charm hadn't shown any other openings, Harry felt there might be something there.

It was an effort that paid off several minutes later, when Neville found a moveable wall panel that Hermione said reminded her of something off Scooby-Doo. While Harry hadn't seen many episodes of the television cartoon, he was impressed with the torch that acted like a lever, mechanically opening the door using non-magical means. Since it wasn't concealed using magic, it couldn't be revealed using magic, and was thus hidden.

The wall panel opened a few feet, allowing the trio to pass through to a large open space on the other side. Torches on the walls sprung to life, illuminating a large suite containing several rooms. They were standing in an office area with bookshelves and a desk. Three doors led to other rooms that Harry discovered were a bedroom, a potion's lab, and a store room.

"How do we decide who gets these books?" Hermione wondered, perusing the titles.

"Well, Neville found the room…"

"But I wouldn't even have been able to get here if it wasn't for you."

"How about we divide them up by subject," Hermione suggested. "Neville can have the ones related to Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. Harry gets the Potions and Defence texts. I'll take Arithmancy and Ancient Runes…"

"What about History, Transfiguration, Charms…" Harry posited.

"We can divide those up amongst us evenly," Hermione said.

"You guys can have those," Neville offered. "I'm not really interested in anything but Herbology anyway."

"What about Marina?" Harry asked with a grin.

"Ok…" Neville allowed. "There might be a few other things I'm interested in, but not down here."

"That's settled, then," Harry said. "Let's get out of here and grab some bags for when we return."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7—Wee Minnie**

September 19 was a Friday, meaning Hermione's party was delayed until after dinner. In the three weeks since the start of term, Hermione had managed to make a few friends. Perhaps her closest female friend was Marina Abbott, due to the fact that they both frequently were found in the company of Harry and Neville. This of course, also made her friends, if only peripherally with Marina's friend Kathleen Hall and her boyfriend John King, who was also friendly with Harry and Neville. In her own dorm, Hermione had also managed to strike up a friendship with another studious Gryffindor girl, Margaret Droope, who she'd befriended in the library.

It was this perhaps unlikely assortment of people who found themselves standing in the seventh floor corridor across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, while Harry paced back and forth before a blank stretch of wall, which suddenly wasn't blank any more.

"Blimey, what's that door?" John asked.

"Room of Requirement," Harry replied.

"Never heard of it," Marina said.

"It's long been rumoured to exist," Margaret said, brushing a loose strand of blonde hair out of her face. "It can turn into anything you want. I never knew it was here, though."

"It's not well publicized," Harry allowed, opening the door, and ushering everyone inside. Hermione entered last and ground to a halt in the doorway. Harry grinned as she took in the room.

It was a near copy of the Gryffindor common room, but there was a huge banner draped across the back of the room that said 'Happy Birthday Hermione!' The room was slightly smaller than the common room, and there were no stairs to the dorms, but the comfortable chairs and couches were there, and there was a table nearby with plates, cups, and flatware. Neville was standing at the table, removing items from his bag and unshrinking them. Harry noted that he'd brought the cake, as they'd discussed, as well as drinks and other refreshments. Marina was fiddling with a Wizarding wireless in the corner. The others were taking seats and pulling out presents, stacking them on the coffee table between them.

"Well, are you going to stand there, or are you going to join your party?" Harry asked with a grin. Hermione responded by playfully slapping him on the shoulder and moving into the room. Harry followed, pulling his own gift for her out of his pocket and unshrinking it. The entire group broke into a chorus of 'For She's a Jolly Good Fellow,' which was louder than one might have expected from such a gathering. When the last refrain finally died, Harry turned to Hermione. "What's first? Cake, or presents?"

"Cake!" the room chorused.

"Hermione?" Harry asked.

"Cake," she decided. "Gotta go with the room."

"Cake it is. Neville?" Neville floated plate after plate of cake to the guests, starting with Hermione. Marina put on the wireless, and soon the room was filled with the warblings of Celestina Warbeck.

"Oh Merlin, this is delicious," she said after she'd taken a bite.

"It's just a cake from the kitchens," Neville said, blushing.

"I did ask the elves to make you something special," Harry said with a shrug after he'd taken a bite of his own. "It would seem they've out done themselves again."

"You're not kidding," Hermione said after another bite. After that, silence descended upon the room as everyone tucked in. Finally, they were all done and the plates and cups pushed aside. Margaret placed the first present in front of Hermione, who began to enthusiastically unwrap it.

In the space of ten minutes, a small stack of presents ranging from socks to books to quills and ink lay before the birthday girl, with only one present remaining. She accepted it graciously from Harry and unwrapped a small polished box with light and dark woods inlaid in delicate patterns. Harry held up a hand to pause her.

"Marina, can you cut off the wireless?" he asked. When the room was quite, he continued. "Open it." When she did, she heard a mournful bell toll, followed by another, and another. Looking down, she saw the interior looked like a standard music box, except the spinning ballerina was replaced by a prancing Freddie Mercury in a harlequin spandex outfit, grasping a microphone. Eventually, a guitar started playing. A huge grin burst onto Hermione's face. Finally, the unmistakeable sound of Brian Johnson's voice burst into the room belting out, "I'm a rolling thunder, a pourin' rain…"

"What IS that?" John asked, staring at the music box.

"'Hell's Bells,' by AC/DC," Hermione said. "They're… a muggle band almost no one's heard of."

"It certainly is… spirited," Marina said, unsure of what to make of the music.

"I like it!" John proclaimed.

"Close it, and open it again," Harry instructed. Hermione did, and when the box opened again, it was to the crooning voice of Freddie Mercury singing the opening lines of Bohemian Rhapsody. Hermione stared at Harry in wonder.

"How?"

"It'll play a new song as soon as the last one's done. When you close the lid, it automatically loads a new song. It's got about a hundred songs, mostly AC/DC and Queen, but there's a lot of other stuff in there too."

"How?"

"Pensieve memories," Harry said, grinning. "I slipped memories of myself listening to the songs into Lord Henry's pensieve. Then, when dad took me out to get me my Cleansweep, we met up with Lord Henry, who took us to the Wizarding Wireless Network studio in Hogsmeade. We were able to pull the music out of the pensieve, isolate the audio of the songs from the other noise in the memories, and put the songs into this music box I bought. Freddie there is a runic transfiguration of the original ballerina based on some photos also placed into a pensieve."

"I can't believe you figured out a way to make me a magical mix tape!" Hermione gushed, closing the box and opening it again. "I love it!" she cried as 'You Shook Me All Night Long' began to play. Still gripping the box, she sprang to her feet, and wrapped Harry up in a tight hug, kissing his cheek.

"What's a mix tape?" Margaret asked, as Hermione finally let Harry go.

"Canadian slang for a jukebox," Harry said quickly, deflecting the question as Hermione sat back down and made the music box play another song.

"What's a jukebox?" Marina asked.

"It's a muggle device that plays songs off records," Margaret supplied. "It allows someone to choose a song from a set list on the records stored in the jukebox." This explanation satisfied everyone, and the conversation broke up into smaller groups as everyone continued to enjoy the party.

Eventually, Kathleen said she had to get back to Hufflepuff. Marina said she did too. John and Neville offered to walk them back to their dorm. Margaret said she had to get to the library to get some books before it closed, and left as well. Harry and Hermione were left alone.

"Not much point in cleaning up, I suppose," Harry said offhandedly. "The room will take care of it all. Just got to pack up your presents." He pulled out his book bag, and began loading it with her various gifts.

"I'm keeping this one out," she said, holding up the music box, which was playing Aerosmith's 'Sweet Emotion.' "I really do love it."

"I can see that," Harry said, placing the full bag on the ground next to the couch. "You haven't put it down since you opened it.

"How did you even come up with it?"

"I remembered when you said you'd miss the music the most, and that you really liked AC/DC and Queen. I figured it couldn't hurt to throw in some other classic rock as well to round out the selection. I asked dad if it was possible to do something like it, and he said it was."

"How did I get so lucky?" Hermione asked with a sweet smile.

"I'm the lucky one," Harry said. After a brief pause he asked. "Do you remember our conversation on the Express?"

"Of course."

"These past few months have made me realize how good of a friend you are. Being in the past has led me to think about the future a lot, and if I'm honest, I can't see a future without you in it. I… I love you, and…" And he didn't get to finish that sentence, as Hermione jumped out of her seat and kissed him soundly. Harry wrapped her up in his arms awkwardly from his spot on the couch and relaxed into the kiss. He couldn't say later just how long that kiss lasted, but by the time they came up for air both were panting heavily. "So does this mean you'll go out with me?"

"You don't even have to ask," Hermione whispered before she kissed him again.

ooOOOOoo

It was much later when Harry and Hermione finally made their way back to the common room. It was late, past curfew, and the two were using Harry's invisibility cloak to avoid detection. They were almost to the portrait, when the entrance opened, and tiny Minerva McGonagall appeared. Hermione grabbed Harry to stop him, and together they watched as she shut the door.

Harry wondered what she was doing, sneaking out near midnight. She started down the hall, and Harry noticed she appeared to be walking with difficulty, like she hadn't really done it before. From their vantage point, Harry couldn't really see her face very well, especially as she was moving away from them. He looked at Hermione and motioned with his head, silently asking if they should follow her. Hermione nodded in reply, and the two set off.

They followed Minerva down several corridors and stairs, watching as she avoided prefects and Mr. Pringle. Harry had a very bad feeling about this. They seemed to be heading for… Harry watched as Minerva pulled open the door to the second floor girls' loo. When the door closed, Harry and Hermione rushed over, pressing their ears against the door.

From within the lavatory, Harry heard Minerva speaking in parseltongue, and the sound of the sink scraping across the floor.

"She's opened the Chamber of Secrets," Harry whispered. Hermione rolled her eyes and nodded. They heard the sink scraping again. Deciding the coast was clear, Harry left the security of the cloak, yanked the door open, and raced for the sink. It was firmly back in place.

"What do you suppose our little Minerva was given a certain diary?" Harry asked rhetorically, staring at the sink.

"It would seem to be a fair bet," Hermione agreed, joining him while folding the cloak and handing it back to Harry, who pocketed it.

"Oi! Myrtle!"

"Hello again," Myrtle said, passing through the stall door.

"Hi Myrtle. Don't know if you remember us. I'm Harry, and this is my girlfriend, Hermione."

"I remember. Girlfriend, you say…"

"Yes. I have an important question to ask. Did you see Minerva McGonagall go into the Chamber of Secrets tonight?"

"Yes."

"Has she gone into the Chamber of Secrets before?"

"I don't think so," Myrtle said thoughtfully, hovering next to the sinks. "I'm not here all the time… The prefects' bath is so entertaining…"

"Focus, please. It's important."

"I haven't seen her go in there before. The only people I've seen go in there are you and Tom Riddle."

"Great! Thanks." He turned to the sink. "_Open_."

"Harry! What are you doing?" Hermione asked.

"You know my saving people thing?" Harry asked rhetorically. "That." Without further ado, he leapt into the hole and slid down the pipe to the base. When he landed, he could hear Hermione following, and waited for her to arrive. Then he motioned for her to be quiet, and to follow him. He walked right up to the door to the Chamber, which was already opened. Harry peered around the edge, and saw Minerva standing in the middle of the Chamber. The floor was otherwise clear. The goblins had finished their harvesting on Saturday, the thirteenth.

"_Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four!_" she hissed. The jaw of the great statue opened, but nothing appeared. Harry moved from around the edge of the door and entered the Chamber, careful to remain quiet. Hermione followed. Minerva got impatient waiting. "_Come out my pet! I have returned. It is time to repay the Muggleborns for their intransigence_."

"It won't come, you know," Harry said, parroting Tom from second year. Minerva jumped, startled, and whipped around. Harry continued to approach. "It's not here."

"Who are you?" Minerva asked. Harry finally got a good look at her. She was dressed in her bedclothes, with a housecoat around her, grasping her wand in her hand as she had no pockets large enough to hide it. Her hair was down, ready for bed, and slightly mussed. Harry assumed she'd been sleeping when Tom had come calling. Then he looked at her face. The torchlight flicked shadows across her features, but he could see her eyes easily. Her eyes were red like fire. Tom was in there.

He'd known that intellectually, but to see it was… disconcerting. It was like reliving his worst memories. Harry decided it was payback time. In a flash, his wand was in his hand from a wand holster in his sleeve, a gift from Neville for his birthday. "_Expelliarmus!_" Minerva's wand flew from her hand before she could react, and she was thrown to the floor. "My name is Harry Potter, Tom," he said as he pocketed her wand. "And I know all about you."

"How!?" Minerva asked, struggling to her feet. Harry could see the look of fear wash across her face. Then she calmed. "It is of no moment. The basilisk will deal with you."

"I told you, it's not coming," Harry said casually, walking around her. Hermione remained where she was, keeping Harry covered. He hadn't asked her to, she simply did it. Keeping Harry out of trouble was sort of her thing.

"It will," Minerva said confidently. "It's probably out hunting."

"Actually, it's dead. I killed it almost three months ago." Harry said, walking over to where the basilisk fang lay at the base of the statue. He picked it up, holding it carefully as he inspected it. He was enjoying playing with Tom. He could almost understand why Tom did it, though Harry knew he was in a much more secure position now that Tom had been the times they'd fought in the past. "Made a pretty penny selling it to the goblins, too."

"No! It's not possible!" Minerva shouted.

"Did it in with the Sword of Gryffindor," Harry explained, studying her. It was then that he saw it. The top of the diary was poking out of the hip pocket of her housecoat. "We all have our favourite tools, don't we Tom?" he asked as he set the fang down on the base of the statue.

"What do you mean?" Minerva shot back cautiously as he turned back to her.

"_Accio Tom's diary_," Harry cast, the book flying from the pocket and into Harry's outstretched hand. He examined it for a moment before continuing. "Well, you won't be needing yours any longer, but, it is your favourite in any case."

"Give that back!" Minerva shouted.

"I think not," Harry replied, pocketing his own wand and picking up the basilisk fang again. He placed the book against the pedestal and prepared to strike. Minerva lunged.

"_Stupefy!_" Minerva's body fell to the floor, revealing Hermione standing behind her, wand tracking the falling girl.

Without another word, Harry stabbed the diary with the basilisk fang. The diary screamed and poured black ichor over the base of the statute. It shuddered in his hand before falling still.

"I think you can bring her round now," Harry said, wiping the diary off on a clean part of the statue to get as much of the goo off as he could.

"_Ennervate_."

On the floor, Minerva stirred, looking up at Harry. He sighed in relief as he placed the diary and the fang on the pedestal, and went to help her up. Her eyes were green. He took her hand and gently pulled her up.

"You gave us quite a scare, Minnie," he said with a grin. With a finger he wiped some muck off her face.

"Where… where am Ah?" she asked, looking around, frightened. Hermione moved up and put a comforting arm around her as she pocketed her wand.

"You're in the Chamber of Secrets," Harry revealed. "May I introduce Hogwarts founder, Salazar Slytherin?" He pointed to the massive statue.

"Ah… How did Ah get here?" It was funny, when she'd been possessed by Tom, she'd been speaking the King's English with a London accent. Now, her Edinburgh brogue was back with a vengeance.

Harry retrieved the diary from the pedestal and showed it to her.

"You received this sometime over the summer, I believe?" Harry asked. She nodded. "How?"

"Ah dinnae ken," Minerva said softly, looking down. "It was in my bag when Ah came out o' Flourish and Blotts. Ah… Ah dinnae ken where it'd come from. Ah saw it was a diary but it'd nae been used…"

"So you started writing in it, and it wrote back, right?"

"How…"

"I've run across this particular diary before," Harry explained. "Tom Riddle is perhaps my oldest adversary. He's been trying to kill me since I was born."

"He dinnae say tha'!" Minerva gasped.

"I'm willing to bet he didn't say anything about me at all," Harry observed. "This was made before he knew about me, and therefore the diary had no knowledge of me."

"But…" she stuttered, trying to piece together the conflicting information in her head. "He said he was a student here just a wee bit ago."

"That's right," Harry allowed, resigned to the fact that he'd have to tell her everything.

"So if tha's true, and the him in the diary disnae ken anythin' about yeh, he could nae have been tryin' tae kill yeh since you were a wee baby."

"Ah, but you're discounting the one thing you shouldn't," Harry warned.

"Wha's tha'?"

"Magic!" Harry smiled at her. "I'm going to tell you a secret, because you deserve to know. After writing in the diary enough, you were possessed by a soul fragment of Tom Riddle, who in another world would grow up to become a very bad, very powerful dark wizard. That Tom Riddle would kill my parents, and try to kill me. But I stopped him for a time. I couldn't stop him permanently, though, because he had this stopping his full death." Harry held up the diary.

"This is… was, a horcrux, a soul container. He murdered Myrtle Warren, the ghost in the second floor girl's lavatory, in order to make it in 1943. Horcruxes are very bad dark magic, but because they store a part of a person's soul, so long as they exist, that person's soul can't go on to the afterlife, and the rest of their soul floats around like a ghost. If they have friends, the soul can be put into another body."

"Like possayssion?"

"Sometimes," Harry allowed. "Or a magically constructed body without another soul in it already. Anyway, Tom from the diary was going to possess you and drain your life force and magic in an attempt to reconstitute himself."

"He said he was trying tae find himself, in order tae return the diary tae his possayssion," Minerva explained. "He said he'd run off… disappeared. His boss found the diary and his other things after he'd left."

"Interesting," Harry mused. Burke thought he'd run off. It was probably Burke who'd written in the diary, and then passed it off to Minerva.

"But that still disnae explain how Tom dinnae ken yeh but had been trying tae kill yeh since you were a wee baby!"

"Minnie, I was born in 1980," Harry revealed, enjoying watching her gasp in surprise. "Last spring Hermione, Neville and I were all in the year 1996. We'd gotten into a fight with some of Tom's followers, called Death Eaters, in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic. There was an explosion in a room with a bunch of time magic, and we found ourselves in 1947. Tom didn't find out about me until a few months before I was born, so he didn't know about me in 1943.

"So yeh're from the future?" she asked, looking from Harry to Hermione. Hermione nodded.

"That's right," Harry said. "But you can't tell anyone."

"Ah won't," she replied fervently.

"No, I mean, you can't. The secret of us being from the future is guarded by a Fidelius Charm. I'm the secret keeper. You can only talk about it to people who already know the secret."

"So yeh, Hermione, and Neville?"

"Here at school, yes," Harry acknowledged. "Though Professor Dumbledore and Headmaster Dippet are also aware."

"So… yeh ken wha' happens in the future?" Minerva asked.

"I know what happened between 1947 and 1996 in my past, but what will happen, I have no idea."

"Did… Did yeh ken abou' me?"

"Yes," Harry said, grinning. "I knew you very well."

"Oh?"

"You were my Transfiguration professor, head of house, and the deputy headmistress."

"Ah was…"

"Are you sure it's a good idea to tell her that?" Hermione cautioned.

"I don't see the harm," Harry said, pocketing the diary. "I mean, it hasn't happened yet, and now it might not happen. For all we know, she'll meet the love of her life, get married, have babies, and be a housewife. Her course isn't pre-ordained. I just told her what might happen."

"But, Ah became the Transfiguration profayssor here?"

"Yep," Harry said freely. "You were an animagus, too. A cat."

"Tha's braw!" she squealed with delight.

"I have no idea what that means," Harry laughed. "But I'm assuming it's good."

"Aye. Ah'm richt pleased with meself," Minerva said. "Ah hope Ah do as weel this time 'round."

"I'm sure you will," Hermione reassured her.

"That said, it's late, and we need to get back to bed," Harry announced.

"What are we going to do about… Minerva?" Hermione asked. "We can't all fit under the cloak."

"True," Harry mused. "But I've got an ace in my pocket," he said patting the diary. "Let's go." He turned, and let the girls over to the access stairs. They exited a few minutes later onto the fifth floor corridor, right into a pair of patrolling prefects.

"Well, well, if it isn't some Gryffindors out for a late night stroll." Harry moaned internally. They were Slythirin sixth years: Bernard Rosier and Mavis Chapman. Rosier was good friends with noted asshole Leslie Mulciber. Harry did have to give them credit, they were far more Slytherin about their harassment than Draco Malfoy had ever been. If it wasn't for the fact that he wasn't harassed by anyone else, it would've been a hard slog to determine that Rosier and Mulciber were the culprits. Unfortunately for them, the Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and even the rest of the Slytherins left Harry alone. Only Mulciber, and by extension his friend Rosier, had any sort of beef with the new kid.

"Alright, you've caught us," Harry allowed. "What's your move?" Behind him he heard the door to the passageway click shut. They'd never get in.

"Where were you?" Rosier asked, pointing an accusing finger into Harry's chest.

"I'll answer to Professor Dumbledore or Headmaster Dippet, but not to you," Harry said. "We can go visit either of them if you like, or you can dock house points and escort us back to our common room, which is it to be?"

"Oh, no, Potter, you'll not get off that easy," Rosier crowed. "Pringle'll get to use the whip for sure. Dippet hates you."

"So it's to him then? Alright."

"After you've told me where you were." Rosier loomed over Harry. He was physically large, perhaps six feet tall, and fourteen or fifteen stone. Where Crabbe and Goyle had been fat, Rosier was muscle. Harry had learned that he and Mulciber played as beaters on the Slytherin quidditch team.

"Timbuktu," Harry replied silkily, not letting Rosier intimidate him.

"Where?"

"Not up on your World geography are you?" Hermione asked from behind him. "Timbuktu is a city in French Sudan in West Africa. But then again, I wouldn't expect an inbred bumpkin like yourself to know something like that."

"Shut your gob, Granger" Rosier snapped.

"Now that you've shown the girls how small your willy is, can we get on with this?" Harry goaded.

"I swear to Merlin that I'll…"

"What's going on here?" Harry sighed in relief as he turned to see Professor Silver approaching. Professor Silver was the middle-aged Defence professor, and head of Ravenclaw. He was fairly well liked, and competent, in contrast to what Harry was used to. He wasn't physically intimidating, of average height and weight, with salt and pepper hair and a neatly trimmed moustache that wouldn't've looked out of place on an RAF pilot. He was very proper, and wore immaculately turned out robes in subdued colours. Tonight he was wearing charcoal grey with pinstripes and a solid black necktie.

"Caught some Gryffindors out after hours, Professor," Rosier explained.

"They were just about to take us to the Headmaster's office," Harry interjected.

"Quiet, you!" Rosier said, cuffing Harry.

"And you found them here?" Silver asked, ignoring Harry.

"They were coming out of a hidden door in the wall," Rosier informed him.

"Hidden?" Silver repeated. "Hmm." He cast a revealing charm that illuminated the door. "How do you access it?" he asked Harry.

"From the other side, sir," Harry said. "So far as I know it's a one-way door."

"Where were you?" Silver asked.

"I'm sorry sir, but I can't say. I can only tell Professor Dumbledore or the Headmaster." That was not true. Harry could've told anyone he chose, but he preferred to let the secret of the Chamber be restricted to as few people as possible.

"Tell me boy!" Silver growled. Professor Silver was very different from Flitwick, though he was not as single-minded as Snape, he didn't have the affections of the students that Flitwick did. That said, he was a very talented Defence professor, and Harry generally received praise from him in class. This was their first interaction outside of class, and it wasn't going exactly as Harry wished.

"Magic compels me not to, sir," Harry said. "There's a Fidelius protecting the information." Harry hoped that would deflect further inquiry, and he was right.

"Very well," Silver said. "Rosier, Chapman, I'll take charge of them from here, and see that they're taken before the Headmaster. "You may continue on your rounds."

"Yes, sir," the two chorused. Rosier looked livid that he wouldn't be there to see the three of them get their due. Harry smiled at him.

As the two Slytherins disappeared, Silver turned to the three Gryffindors.

"I suppose you'd like me to swing by Professor Dumbledore's office to collect him, so that you might have some friendly council during your inquisition?"

"Yes, please, sir," Harry replied.

"I hope that you can provide the Headmaster with more information than you did me. I don't think he'd shed any tears over your expulsion, Mr. Potter."

"I can, sir." With a grunt, Professor Silver led them to Dumbledore's office. A quick knock opened the door revealing the professor in his usual attire.

"Ah, Professor Silver, what a surprise! Oh, and Mr. Potter, and Misses Granger and McGonagall. I assume this isn't a purely social visit, then?"

"I'm simply here to allow you the courtesy of accompanying us to the Headmaster's office as their head of house."

"Actually," Harry cut in. "I'd prefer to get your opinion here, professor. I will happily go to Headmaster Dippet's office, however, I think you would like to see what I have here first."

"Why don't we step into my office, then?" Dumbledore held the door open and they all entered. When Dumbledore had shut the door, Harry began without taking a seat. The others remained standing as well, eager to get their story out.

"Professor Dumbledore, do you remember when I told you about the first time I went into the Chamber of Secrets?" Professor Silver's eyebrows went right up. Minerva looked extremely frightened. As far as Harry knew, she'd never been in trouble before. For Harry, of course, this was old hat, and this Dumbledore was far less imposing than the older version had been, though decidedly less grandfatherly.

"I do," Dumbledore said hesitantly.

"A girl had been possessed by a soul fragment of Tom Riddle," Harry clarified. Professor Silver's mouth dropped open. "While possessed she opened the chamber, releasing the basilisk. Finally, the soul fragment began taking her essence and trying to become corporeal, yes?" Dumbledore nodded. Harry pulled out the diary and threw it on the desk. "That's the diary that Ginny Weasley wrote in. I kick myself that I didn't see the signs earlier…"

"You were only twelve," Hermione countered quickly.

"Still… I saw the signs this time."

"And we got a little lucky," Hermione added.

"Minnie, tell Professor Dumbledore how you got this diary," Harry instructed.

"Ah… Ah dinnae remember getting it, Profayssor," McGonagall stammered. "Ah was in Flourish and Blotts and when Ah walked oot, it was in me bag along wit' me other books. Ah'd always wanted a diary, so Ah started writin' in it, but it wrote back, ye ken?"

"I do," Dumbledore replied. "And what did it say?"

"It said it belonged to Tom Riddle, and asked if Ah'd help look fer him," McGonagall said, gaining confidence. "It said Tom'd run off, that it'd been found by his boss, and that it'd gotten his boss to slip it in the bag of a Hogwarts student."

"Did he choose you on purpose?" Dumbledore wanted to know.

"Ah dinnae think so," McGonagall replied. "It jes' needed to get back here, so it could open the Chamber. It thought that'd brin' Tom back to the school, where he could find his book and reclaim it." She stopped, finished with her tale, or so she thought.

"Hermione and I were coming back from her birthday party, and saw Minnie leaving the common room. She was walking funny, like she hadn't ever walked before, so we followed her. When she opened the Chamber I knew what'd happened. When I saw her eyes, they confirmed it. Her eyes were red. And when she spoke, she'd lost her accent; she spoke like a Londoner. Plus, she said things she couldn't have known."

"Such as?"

"Well, first, she spoke parseltonge." Professor Silver lowered himself into one of the chairs, unable to physically stand any more, so overwhelmed was he at the revelations pouring out of the young man. "She knew the passwords to both the chamber and the basilisk's lair. Then, she knew the monster was a basilisk. Once I'd done the diary with a basilisk fang, she woke up and her accent was back. She had no idea where she was or why she was there. It was just like Ginny Weasley. She couldn't've faked it and been that spot on."

"Yes. You're right," Dumbledore agreed. He looked at the book on the desk and pulled out his wand. He began waving it over the book, reciting a spell Harry had never heard before. Professor Silver obviously had though, as he sucked in his breath, eyes wider than ever. The diary glowed blue. "Alas, my fears have been realized. This was, indeed a horcrux."

"In that case, I'd like to contact the Aurors," Harry said. While in his own time, he knew the Aurors would've done little or nothing to help him, in this time Tom Riddle was a nobody, and Magical Britain was untainted by years of virtual civil war. If there was one thing they could be counted on doing, it would be tracking down and destroying other horcruxes, should they exist.

"Why, Mr. Potter? This horcrux has already been destroyed," Dumbledore asked, attempting to retain some control over the matter. Harry didn't know whether Dumbledore had followed through on his spring promise to talk to Tom, and he didn't really care.

"Because Tom Riddle's done a runner, and he's left behind at least one horcrux…"

"I'd think one would be the limit," Professor Silver interjected breathlessly. He was slowly regaining his wits after the mental gymnastics he'd just performed upon hearing what Harry and Minerva had said, but he wasn't quite put together yet. Harry pressed on.

"My point is, _he left it behind_, meaning it doesn't appear to be important to him. Why would that be?"

"One would tend to protect a horcrux, I'd imagine," Professor Silver agreed.

"Besides, they could at least investigate Borgin and Burke's," Harry reasoned. "Burke did pass the horcrux off to Minnie, which should be a crime."

"It is," Professor Silver agreed. Dumbledore sighed. He seemed resigned to the fact that the authorities would be brought in.

"Very well," he said picking up the book. "Since some of this information cannot become public, we'll restrict it to what Miss McGonagall knew before talking to Mr. Potter, and…"

"We saw her possessed, were concerned, and followed her, discovering the whole thing," Hermione added.

"Excellent," Professor Dumbledore agreed. "That's settled, shall we adjourn to the Headmaster's office to call the authorities?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8—Discoveries**

Basic Auror Alastor Moody was in no mood. It wasn't unusual to put the novices on the night shift in the company of lower ranked but competent Aurors who were bucking for promotion. With only one year in since graduating from the academy, Moody hadn't seen much action yet. Despite that, he knew this case would be a big one. He'd just come from Hogwarts, where he and his partner, Auror Barty Crouch had had a rather interesting discussion with the Headmaster, two professors, and three students.

Apparently, one of the students, a Scottish firstie, had been possessed by a book, which they then determined had been a horcrux. This book had been slipped to her by its rightful owner's boss in an effort to reunite it with said owner. It had possessed the girl, which had been observed by two older students, who followed her, eventually freeing her from her possession. Though Moody was a bit fuzzy on how the other two students had destroyed the horcrux, it was, in fact, destroyed and now in Auror custody with an evidence tag. He was certain that clarifying that last bit would fall to him at a more reasonable hour. For now, though, they needed to action the information they'd obtained before the subject could get wind of their move against him.

Moody crouched low next to Crouch in Knockturn Alley. The alley was dead—it was almost four o'clock, even the chippies were asleep by then. Across the alley was their target: Borgin and Burke's. It was dark. The merchandise inside were merely shadows. Even the residence above the shop was quiet. The only thing Moody could see was the moving shadow of the Ministry Cursebreaker in the doorway as he carefully took down the wards protecting the shop.

Other Aurors from the other teams on duty that night waited nearby for the wards to fall. Moody gripped his wand in his sweaty hand. He was young for this job, he knew. He was only twenty, and had passed the academy in nearly record time. Now he was going to be taking part in his first raid.

Across the street, the wards flickered once—a sudden burst of electric blue light—before falling. Before he knew it, Crouch was running across the street and slamming a battering ram against the lock (the unlocking charm didn't always work against charmed doors, but muggle methods usually did). The wood splintered and the door swung open. Moody followed close, stepping around the dropped the ram by the entrance and pursuing Crouch through the rats' nest of a shop to the back, up the stairs to the apartment above.

There they found Caractus Burke still asleep. Before he could awaken he was stunned, relieved of his wand, and another Auror was portkeying him away to a holding cell at the Ministry. Moody found himself breathing heavily. He could feel the adrenalin coursing through his system that would now not be needed.

"Are you coming?" Crouch asked from the doorway. Moody looked up surprised, but followed. He watched as Crouch opened doors, looking for something. At last, he found it: another bedroom, much smaller than the first, at the back of the apartment. "This is where Riddle slept, I bet." Moody couldn't help but agree with him. "Don't touch anything in here without my say so." Again, Moody nodded in agreement. Seemed like a sensible precaution when you're talking about horcruxes. They searched the tiny room for thirty minutes, prying up floorboards and tapping the walls, but found nothing.

Finally, Crouch straightened up, sighing. "If I was a horcrux, where would I be?"

"What if Burke didn't know it was a horcrux?" Moody asked. "Maybe he had the book, right? That wrote back. But what if another horcrux weren't a book?"

"Like a trinket?" Crouch asked, intrigued.

"Burke runs a trinket shop," Moody pointed out. "Maybe he thought Riddle was stealing from him. Maybe he put it on display downstairs in the shop."

"Cast the detection charm here one last time," Crouch instructed. "I'll do the same in Burke's room. Then we'll meet downstairs and sweep the shop. If there isn't one there, we'll have to review the sales register to see if we can discern any likely candidates for a horcrux."

Moody blinked once. This case had gone from very exciting to excruciatingly mind-numbing in five minutes. When he blinked again, Crouch was gone. He sighed and cast the charm. Nothing.

ooOOOOoo

The pair had been searching for an hour. The shop was so cluttered that at times it was hard to move. Add to that, the nature of the search: a quarter of the merchandise for sale was definitely illegal, another quarter probably so, and the rest was of questionable provenance—read, probably stolen.

Crouch and Moody painstakingly recorded each item, cast detection charms, and then either added it to a growing pile of confiscated merchandise or returned it to the shelf. Regardless of the horcrux business, Burke was going away for a long, long time. The trial had Moody salivating. He wondered why Burke hadn't been investigated before.

He was about halfway through the jewellery when he found it. He was casting charms at a necklace when the diadem next to it glowed. He saw the strong blue glow and sucked in his breath. He recast the charm to be sure, then levitated the diadem to the top of the counter. Under no circumstances did he want to touch this thing.

"Boss!" he called out.

"What?" came the call from the other side of the room.

"I found it!" Crouch's head poked around the side of a large cabinet.

"What?"

"I found it." Moody pointed to the diadem and recast the charm a third time. The diadem glowed blue.

"Bloody hell," was all Crouch could say as he went over. He quickly conjured a box and levitated the diadem inside. "I'm going to get this back to the Ministry. The Unspeakables will want to see it. You keep cataloguing the items. This trial's gonna be big."

"Right, boss." After Crouch apparated away, Moody sighed and resumed inspecting the other pieces of jewellery. It was going to be a long night.

ooOOOOoo

Flea apparated into a mess. There were ten other Unspeakables in the break room, all seemingly talking at once. When they weren't working with people on the outside, they let their hoods down. Flea went over to where Sam Abbott, his brother-in-law, was talking with another Unspeakable.

"What's going on?"

"From what I've been able to piece together, that son of yours just kicked over an anthill," Sam replied with a grin.

"What's Harry done?" Flea asked, antennae twigging.

"Destroyed a horcrux, and led to the confiscation of another," Sam shrugged. "You should be chuffed."

"Okay, you're going to have to make me savvy," Flea said. "Out with the full story."

"The night bloke got a visit from an Auror who'd been called to Hogwarts. Your son, Granger, and a firstie were there with Silver, Dumbledore, and Dippet. Dumbledore hands over a book with a hole in it, covered in black goo. Seems the firstie had been writing in it and got possessed. Harry destroyed the diary, saving the girl. He reported it to Dumbledore, who discovered it was… had been, a horcrux.

"The firstie said she'd gotten it from Burke of Borgin and Burke's. The diary told her that it'd belonged to Tom Riddle, who worked there. Young Tom's been missing for a couple of months, though, and the diary was keen to get back with its owner, so it had Burke slip it into the firstie's books at Flourish and Blotts to get it to Hogwarts. The book was going to open the Chamber of Secrets to draw Tom back to Hogwarts where it could be reunited. Only, the daft book doesn't know the basilisk was offed months ago, and so your son and Granger come across the firstie calling for the beast that'll never come."

Flea didn't flinch when Sam brought up the slaying of the basilisk. All the material he'd gotten from Harry, Hermione, and Neville had been shared amongst all the Unspeakables. Their work never left the Department, was in fact, protected by its own charms similar to the Fidelius, and not sharing would've put their research back by decades.

"The Aurors go and bust in on Burke, and after a bit of searching find a second horcrux that Burke's got for sale—has had for months! Anyway, we've got both of them now. The night bloke got to working with it, and damned if it isn't another of Tom's horcruxes. It looks like Burke's going to be going away for a long time."

"How'd Harry destroy the horcrux?" Flea asked.

"Dunno, but that basilisk he slew might've helped," Sam replied.

"Makes sense, but he had the goblins harvest it weeks ago," Flea mused. "Maybe he kept back a fang just for this…"

"Probably. He did know about the diary, right?"

"Yeah," Flea agreed. "Didn't know about the other one, though, I don't think."

"Like I said, he kicked over an anthill."

"Are we going to destroy it?"

"Eventually. I'd think someone would want to study it first. Not me though, it gives me the heebie jeebies."

ooOOOOoo

Caractus Burke had not slept well at all. He had no idea what time it was. The light in his cell was constantly on, and there was no window. He hadn't eaten since he'd been revived, so even meals were unavailable to mark the passage of time. When the door opened the jailer came and removed him to another room furnished only with a table and chairs, where he was bound to one of them using sticking charms. The jailer left immediately after. Again alone, Burke waited.

Eventually, the door on the far side of the room opened, revealing a young Auror, who took the seat opposite.

"Hello, pillock," he said jovially.

"What?" Burke asked. His voice was hoarse.

"I called you a pillock," the man reiterated. "It means idiot."

"I know what it means! Why am I here?"

"Like I said, you're an idiot." The man pulled out a ruined book and threw it down on the table. "Know what that is?" Burke nodded, he'd seen it before. This was very bad. "Yeah, you do. How about this?" He pulled out the diadem. Burke looked confused. "They're the same. Oh, they're different containers, but they're the same thing."

"What do you mean?" Burke asked. "How can a tiara and an enchanted diary be the same?"

"Oh, it wasn't enchanted. It was a horcrux." Burke's eyes widened considerably. "Diadem is too. Funny story, that. It's the lost Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw."

"Bloody hell."

"Yep, and you passed this diary off to a child," the man spat. "Court might see that as attempted murder. Then you were trying to sell the other one. Not to mention that simple possession of these is illegal as hell."

"I didn't know they were horcruxes!" Burke protested. "When my shop assistant disappeared I found them amongst his things. The book was useless to me, but it seemed to know what it wanted, so I did what it asked. The tiara… Well, it's loaded with diamonds and jewels, so I figured I could make up for the difficulty of hiring a new assistant by monetizing it."

"Never thought to question a sentient book?" the Auror grumped. "Like I said, pillock."

"You've got to believe me!" Burke pleaded.

"Oh, I believe you're a moron," the Auror laughed. "And if that was all, it might be just a slap on the wrist, what with you not really knowing what they were, but it's not all is it? It's not all at all." Burke looked scared.

"What do you mean?" he asked, voice quivering.

"Well, you see, we were going through your shop looking for the diadem here, and we kept coming across things that shouldn't be there. I don't have everything to show you, obviously, but I do have a list." The Auror pulled out several feet of parchment and unrolled it. "This is two hundred thirty-three objects we found in your shop that are illegal." He pulled out another scroll, putting it on the table. "One hundred and one object reported stolen, missing, or lost." He pulled out another scroll and added it to the pile. "One hundred seventy-six objects of questionable legality or provenance. This is the list I get to follow up on when I'm done with you. How do you think that makes me feel about you?"

"Erm… not too kindly?" Burke asked, sheepish at last.

"Right in one," the Auror grunted. "Now, if you'd be willing to help me identify these items, things can go a little easier for you."

"What do you mean?" Burke asked hopefully.

"Oh, you're still going to Azkaban for a long time," the Auror laughed. "But perhaps you'll get a cell in a part of the prison that the dementors don't frequent. After all, if you help us, you might get out one day, and you'll want to be sane."

"I'll do it!" Burke shouted, leaping at the chance for some sort of reprieve.

"Excellent," the Auror said, collecting his parchments and the two horcruxes. "In that case, you can return to your cell tonight. Once you finish your supper, the lights'll go out, and you can get well rested. After breakfast, we'll get to work." The Auror stood.

"Thank you!" Burke called as the Auror left, closing the door behind him. He put the armful of props on the table just outside and cancelled the transfiguration on the pair of shoes he'd been using as horcruxes.

"Here you go, boss," the Auror said, handing them back to his team leader.

"You know, Moody," Crouch said, accepting the shoes. "You do a pretty good job at convincing criminals to help us."

"He did the job himself," Moody shrugged. "All I did was put his own work in front of him and let him sweat."

ooOOOOoo

"You asked to see me, Professor?" Harry asked, pushing the door open.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, waving Harry in. He was sitting in a conversation area around the fireplace, something Harry recognized would be copied later in Dumbledore's headmaster's office. Harry entered, closing the door behind him. Dumbledore motioned for him to sit across from him. "I just wanted to let you know how the case against Mr. Burke is developing."

"Oh?" Harry asked, sitting.

"Yes. After the Aurors left us the other night, they went to Mr. Burke's establishment and took him into custody. They then went through the place with a fine-toothed comb and uncovered a second horcrux that had been put up for sale by the unknowing Mr. Burke. It was Rowena Ravenclaw's lost diadem. Both it and the diary have been turned over to the Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries, who will study them before disposing of the horcrux in the diadem."

"And what of Mr. Burke?"

"Well, it appears that he was unaware the diary and diadem were horcruxes, and has agreed to cooperate in exchange for a slightly reduced sentence. The trial will be held in the coming weeks."

"What's he cooperating about?"

"Aside from telling the truth about the diary, he's decided to assist the Aurors in going through his shop's merchandise. A large portion of his offerings were illegal or stolen, it turns out."

"There's a surprise," Harry deadpanned, staring into the fire. Then he looked at Dumbledore. "So they only found two horcruxes?"

"You suggest there might be more?" Dumbledore's curiosity was piqued.

"I'm suggesting, if he made two, he either made more or was going to make more," Harry said. "What's the likelihood that he only made two? I mean, the diary I understand… it was connected to him personally. But the diadem, other than being connected to the Hogwarts founders, wasn't connected to him at all." Harry looked into the fire again, thinking.

"I know he loved this school," Harry continued slowly. "He stopped the attacks when the Headmaster told him the school would have to close. He used Ravenclaw's…"

"Diadem, it's like a crown or tiara."

"That… as a horcrux. Then there's the number… I mean, two? It's not a very arithmantically significant number. If he's good enough to make more than one, why stop at two? I think he was planning on making more; perhaps a lot more. No… if he only made two, it's because he hadn't had time yet to make more. Either that, or he's hidden others so that they'll be hard to find and destroy."

"So," Dumbledore reiterated. "You posit that he either would make or has made more, that they might be items connected to his past or the school, and that if they exist, they might be hidden away?"

"The two found were in his personal effects," Harry rationalized. "That's fairly safe, but not perfect." He was thinking back to Harry Hunting here. "Hiding places which only Riddle would know about would be better. It would be a place that had special significance to him. I checked the Chamber of Secrets, but found no horcruxes." He didn't tell Dumbledore that he had found large quantities of books and potions ingredients because he didn't want annoying questions. "I don't know enough about Riddle's past to be able to suggest other hiding places."

"Tom was an orphan," Dumbledore explained. "He grew up in a London orphanage: Wool's, after his mother died after birthing him. She named him Tom after his father, and Marvolo after his maternal grandfather."

"Marvolo who?"

"Marvolo Gaunt, Tom's grandfather. The Gaunts believed in pureblood supremacy so much that they married their siblings for generations as no other purebloods would have them. Tom's mother, Merope, was the product of at least a century of inbreeding. She was to marry her brother Morfin, but became enamoured of a local muggle, Tom Riddle. Using a love potion, she bewitched him, and he whelped young Tom upon her. Upon learning of her pregnancy, she ended the love potions and Mr. Riddle became clearheaded again. It was at this point that he left her, and refused further contact, which crushed Merope."

"So can we go talk to Riddle's father?" Harry was wracking his brain trying to remember what he'd read on Riddle's tombstone during the resurrection. He was coming up blank.

"Mr. Riddle and his parents were killed in 1943, and Morfin was sent to Azkaban for doing the deed. I visited him after we talked in the spring. I was hoping to glean more insight into Tom. Alas, it was not what I had expected. Tom had used a memory charm to convince Morfin that he'd killed the Riddles, when in fact it was Tom who'd done so. Morfin confessed when asked, and after a cursory investigation, the Ministry tried him and chucked him in prison."

"It sounds like the Gaunts and Riddles are a dead end," Harry mused.

"You'd be wrong," Dumbledore countered. "While he hated his muggle Riddle heritage, Tom was at least somewhat proud of his Gaunt lineage, which, aside from being pureblood back to the fifteenth century, was also descended from Salazar Slytherin."

"Perhaps he's made something from a family heirloom, or hidden something at the Gaunt home," Harry suggested. "Could we go and look? Where is it?"

"The Gaunts lived near the Riddles in a small hamlet called Little Hangleton in Yorkshire," Dumbledore revealed. "When I get a chance, I shall attend to the house and see if it holds any secrets."

"That's all I ask," Harry replied, somewhat disheartened that he wouldn't be going there himself. "Was there anything else, Professor?"

"No," Dumbledore replied. "That was all." Harry nodded, rising.

"I'll just be going then."

ooOOOOoo

For the next several weeks, absolutely nothing happened. Oh, there was progress, of course. Burke sang like a canary. Moody and Crouch processed each item and tracked down leads. Prosecutors prepared their case. But none of that found its way back to Harry at Hogwarts. Instead, he continued attending classes, found time to be alone with Hermione, spent time building new friendships with John King and other Gryffindor sixth years, and practising quidditch.

Harry had cemented himself as the starting seeker, and any animosity from the rest of the team had been swept aside by the praise that Geoff Parker had buried him under. He'd also gotten points from Sheila Thompson for helping her boyfriend to the hospital. As practices came and went, he'd continued to gain support from the chaser line for his inventive and active participation in various plays, and general enthusiasm for the game. He even talked to the beaters a bit about the sort of support he expected during play, which Geoff hadn't thought to do, which encouraged the beaters that Harry was a serious player, and not simply some attention-seeking hotshot. George Wood was perhaps the last of the team to come around, finally, grudgingly admitting that Harry had earned his place on the team and more.

Despite his success on the quidditch pitch, Hermione was hands down the best part of Harry's life. While Harry had seen other students, even in 1947, sneaking off to broom closets, or being inappropriate in the common room, Harry's relationship with Hermione wasn't like that. In public, they would hold hands, hug lightly and kiss on the cheek. Neither Harry nor Hermione were eager to sully their relationship with impolite public displays of affection, or with hiding away in a broom closet. This meant that they progressed slowly.

They had a standing date on Friday nights, a reminder of their first Friday night. After dinner, they would retire to the Room of Requirement, where Harry would conjure the room. He tried to vary it as much as possible. For their first date, he called up a copy of the common room, and they enjoyed a quiet evening alone by the fire talking and doing some light reading. There was some snogging, of course, but it was hesitant. The couple was still learning their limits, and neither Harry nor Hermione wanted to push the other too far too fast.

The second date, Harry made the room a practice room, with dummies, sparring areas, and books on magic. Hermione got a good workout before she gave Harry a good workout. During practice, they learned the sparring area had a cushioning charm, which they put to good use once they were done.

Their third date, Harry created a swimming pool and hot tub, and the couple swam. The room even provided swimming attire and places to change. Harry thought Hermione looked very attractive in her blue bikini. Hermione told him she almost hadn't put it on, eyeing instead a purple one-piece the room had also provided, but in the end, she admitted to wanting to give Harry a thrill. He'd replied that she'd done so, and that she looked quite fit, causing her to blush.

Their most exciting date to date was certainly the fourth. Harry had asked the room for an adventure, and the room had provided. He and Hermione had stepped into a room chock-a-block with mountains of discarded books, toys, games, clothes, furniture, and other odds and ends. Some of them looked centuries old.

"My God!" Hermione gasped, goggling at all the things. "It's like a Gringott's vault!" Harry wandered over to the nearest pile and began picking through some of the stuff.

"I don't think most of this stuff belongs in a Gringott's vault," Harry said, as he held up a broken quill.

"Why'd you bring me here?" Hermione asked, moving over to a more promising pile. "We're not to clean it up, are we? That'd be a pretty lousy date."

"I asked the room for an adventure," Harry said, shrugging. "I guess it thought this would be exciting."

"I wonder what this place is."

"Easy way to find out," Harry commented. "A Hogwarts Elf, please!" A small house elf in Hogwarts livery appeared.

"Yes, young master?"

"Where are we?"

"You are in the Come and Go Room," the elf explained patiently. "It is now the room of lost things. When a student loses an item, and an elf is unable to return it, we bring it here. Likewise, students sometimes hide things in the Come and Go Room, then forget about them, and the room sorts them here."

"So all this stuff is lost?"

"Yes," the elf agreed.

"Can we take it out of the room?" Harry asked, eyeing some sparkly things.

"The things within have been abandoned, and have no owner," the elf said. "You are free to take what you will."

"Thank you," Harry said politely. "I have no further questions. Do you, Hermione?"

"No, thank you," Hermione said from a pile of old clothes. The elf nodded, and popped away.

"Sounds like a take-what-you-want, zero galleon shopping trip to me," Harry said as he began perusing the stacks of broken furniture, piles of clothes, and other items. He turned a corner down one of the winding aisles, and stopped. "Erm, 'Mione, you might want to check this out."

"What is it?" she asked, as she moved towards the sound of his voice. He knew when she'd seen it because of the gasp. No explanation was necessary. Harry smiled as she practically skipped towards the massive stacks of books. There must've been at least ten thousand volumes, and that was just what was visible.

Harry watched as Hermione pulled her wand out and cast a simple sorting spell. Books immediately began flying about, sorting themselves. Huge stacks of textbooks formed, all lost or abandoned by students over the years. Hermione picked through those, selecting out the best copies of the most recent textbooks for her classes and his classes for seventh year. Harry reckoned with a smile that they wouldn't need much from Diagon at the end of next summer. When she'd done that she moved back into the smaller piles to look at other books.

With a final look at Hermione, Harry moved off down a different aisle. Inspired by Hermine's use of spells to find what she wanted, Harry pulled out his wand.

"_Accio _jewellery," he cast. He quickly cast a shield charm when he saw the vast amount of gold, silver, platinum, and gemstones hurtling towards him. The jewellery hit the shield and dropped to the floor. With a wicked grin on his face he cast a basic detection charm before levitating the cursed jewellery away from the ankle-deep pile of wealth around him.

Once the dangerous stuff was safely separated out, Harry found a large kit bag nearby and began filling it with necklaces, bracelets, tiaras, brooches, pins, rings, and other things he couldn't identify. He saved the earrings and cufflinks for last, as many of them were solitary, missing their mate. They'd still be worth something for the gemstones and precious metals, though, so he loaded those too.

"_Accio_ watches," was Harry's next spell, and resulted in a smaller, but still significant number of gold, silver, and brass pocket watches and a much smaller number of wrist watches flying towards him. Harry again checked for curses, but not finding any, loaded all the watches into the kit bag. He'd sort through them later, and set aside those that needed repair.

That done, Harry checked on Hermione, who was still deep in the forest of books. There was a growing pile of books in the aisle, where she'd set aside at least a hundred so far. Harry chuckled, and found another kit bag for Hermione to use when she was finished, leaving it next to the pile of books. Harry then wandered off down the aisle, looking for something to catch his fancy.

He stopped in front of his own version of a Hermione's books. Three versions, in fact, right next to each other. On the left was a pile of brooms. Some of them were quite old, hundreds of years, in some cases. Even broken, they'd be worth a fortune. Next to the brooms were wands, again, ranging in age from several hundreds of years old to nearly new. In the back, Harry could even see a staff, like a mage would carry. Harry placed it at over a thousand years old. On the right, the final pile contained weaponry of every description, but mostly blades. He smiled.

Hermione found him there an hour later with a portmanteau and two kit bags, shrinking and loading brooms and swords as fast as he could. Most of the wands were already gone. Only the broken ones were left.

"I think we need to get going," Hermione informed him while hefting the kit bag Harry had found for her on her shoulder and grasping a carpet bag in her hand. Harry looked up at her with a grin on his face, pushing himself to his feet.

"Hermione, this is properly cool," Harry gushed. "There are some really rare brooms here." He held up one. "This one's from the middle ages!" He shrunk it down, and put it in the open kit bag. He looked wistfully at the remaining brooms before closing the bag and casting a feather-light charm on it. He then hefted both kit bags onto his shoulders and grasped the portmanteau in his hand. "Ready," he said, looking at her. "Did you find anything good?"

"Oh, Harry, there were soooo many books. I think I got about a thousand." She led them back down the aisle and out into the hall.

"I saw that we needn't go to Flourish and Blott's next summer," Harry observed.

"That was only the beginning," Hermione agreed. "I found some really old books too. I've got a copy of the Gutenberg Bible, and several illuminated manuscripts from the middle ages. One's from the reign of King Malcolm I."

"Who?"

"King of Scotland from 943 AD until 954 AD," Hermione replied. "It was the oldest book I could find."

"Wicked," Harry offered. "Are you going to keep it?"

"Why not?" Hermione shrugged. "I mean, I don't really need the money, do I?"

"I suppose not," Harry grinned. "And Hermione Granger really should have the oldest book in school." Hermione grinned back.

"Did you find anything good besides brooms and swords?"

"I got a bunch of wands, some watches, and a few other odds and ends," he replied evasively.

"What sorts of odds and ends?"

"If I tell, I'll spoil the surprise," Harry shot back, eyes dancing with delight.

"Fine," Hermione allowed, stopping at the fat lady's portrait. "Scarab." The portrait swung open, and the two entered the common room. Neville looked up from his studying.

"Did you go on a date or a vacation?" Neville asked eyeing their bags.

"More of a treasure hunt?" Harry said thoughtfully. Hermione nodded.

"It wasn't very date-like, was it?" she asked.

"Sorry, love. I'll do better next time."

"I'm going to put this stuff away. I'll be back down in a bit." She kissed him soundly and retreated up the stairs.

"What've you got?" Neville asked when she was gone.

"Wanna come and find out?" Neville nodded and collecting his work, followed Harry up to the dorm.

Norman Bell, James Green, Kenneth MacDonald, Donald Stewart, and George Wood were all there, lounging on their beds or playing exploding snap. They paused when Harry and Neville entered.

"Where'd you go?" George Wood asked.

"Shopping trip," Harry replied naturally. "Wanna see what I got? I think you'll like some of it." The boys immediately gathered round. Harry opened the first kit bag and dumped the brooms onto the bed. Everyone's eyes widened immediately.

"Merlin's beard!" George swore. He immediately began rummaging through the brooms on the bed, enlarging them and gushing. "It's a Silver Arrow!" He almost immediately threw it aside. "A Cleansweep 1!" Soon he had about half the brooms stacked against the wall next to Harry's bed.

"I've got a bunch of duplicates. As long as I keep one of each, I don't mind sharing," Harry offered. Divide the others up amongst yourselves." Norman Bell, the other quiddich player, immediately joined George on the far side of the bed to choose his brooms. James Green followed too, hoping to pick up a broom, as he didn't have one yet.

Harry them opened the portmanteau and dumped out the wands.

"Cor, Harry," James said as he paused just before picking up a Cleansweep 2. "Got enough wands there?"

"Wait until you see this," Harry said, drawing out the mage's staff. He enlarged it.

"That is properly impressive," James agreed. "Where'd you get this stuff?"

"There was a room of stuff on the seventh floor," Harry said. "I asked a house elf, and he said it was there for the taking. People had left all this stuff behind when they left Hogwarts. I took Hermione, and she got a load of books. He dumped out the shrunk weapons onto a clear spot on the bed. The two Scotsmen began enlarging them and examining them. "Be careful with those," Harry scolded. "One of those is the Sword of Gryffindor." Harry had noticed that one as he was loading the weapons. Whatever happened, he was keeping it this time.

"Ah think yeh're a jammy chancer," Kenneth said as he picked up a rapier and enlarged it.

"What?" Harry asked, mystified.

"'E said yeh're bloody lucky," Donald translated. Harry shrugged, but felt bad. He waited until they were all busy with the weapons and brooms, and gently kicked the kit bag of jewellery under his bed unobserved. He then found the Sword of Gryffindor on the pile and enlarged it, pulled it out of its sheath and examined the blade. He wondered if it would fade away again. He hoped it wouldn't.

"Some blokes have all the luck," marvelled George.

"I'd be happy to take you guys there tomorrow," Harry offered. "There's still some brooms and weapons left, and a whole bunch of other stuff."

"Hell yes!" George replied. The other boys made agreeable noises as well.

"After breakfast then?" Harry asked. He began reshrinking and repacking the weapons and wands. When he was done, he did the same for the brooms that hadn't been chosen. The other boys faded back to their own beds in ones and twos. Soon Harry was alone.

When the lights went out he pulled his curtains, silenced his bed, and reached under for the kit bag of jewellery. He spent half an hour sorting through it, until he found a very fine silver necklace with a dozen deep blue teardrop shaped sapphires hanging from it. The smallest on the sides were at least five carats each, and they got progressively larger the closer they got to the bottom. The two largest sapphires weighing in at twenty carats apiece. Harry could scarcely believe that anyone had lost such a treasure. He hid it under his pillow, returned the rest of the jewellery to the kit bag, and stuffed it back under his bed before drifting off to sleep.

ooOOOOoo

Harry presented Hermione with the necklace in the common room the next morning. When he pulled it out of his pocket, her squeak of excitement could be heard all over Gryffindor tower.

"Where did you get this?!" she asked, as he put it on her.

"Where did you get all those books?"

"You found this in the Room of Requirement?" she gasped.

"Yup. And this isn't all I got." He pulled up his sleeve, showing off his new watch. "I still have to go through it all, but you can expect some more quite nice presents to come your way."

"You're such a thoughtful boyfriend," Hermione said, smiling, before kissing him on the cheek. "Did you know that sapphire is my birthstone, or was that just a happy coincidence?"

"Happy coincidence," Harry shrugged. "Shall we go to breakfast? I have to show the other boys the room after."

"I bet some of the girls would like to see it too," Hermione added. "Margaret was gushing over my books last night."

"Ok," Harry agreed. "Let's set it up."

ooOOOOoo

Around nine Harry and Hermione led Norman, James, John, Neville, Kenneth, Donald, George, Margaret, Marina, and Kathleen to the seventh floor corridor. Harry paced before the wall three times and the door appeared. Harry opened it, and ushered the astonished students inside.

Hermione guided Margaret to the books. Harry directed Norman and George to the brooms. The rest of them just started wandering around gaping at the selection.

"We could be in here forever and not see everything!" Marina breathed.

"What are you interested in?" Harry asked.

"I could use some new clothes," Marina said after thinking.

"Ooooh, me too!" agreed Kathleen.

"Right," Harry nodded. "Stand over there." He pointed to a spot out of the way. Once everyone was safely clear, he pulled out his wand. "_Accio_ women's clothing!" He was met by a rushing sound, and quickly snapped his shield in place as he was inundated by swarms of lost socks, abandoned blouses, and dirty knickers. When the deluge had abated, he lowered the shield and stepped out of the pile. "Ladies, the boutique is open. I make no claim on the quality or cleanliness of the items on offer." The girls squealed and dove in, quickly finding several suitable jumpers, skirts, and other items.

Harry turned to Neville.

"Care to go exploring?"

ooOOOOoo

The gang left the room in time for lunch, each of them dragging at least one kit bag, suitcase, rucksack, or other bag full of shrunken merchandise. Marina was levitating a trunk full of clothes in front of her, while her friend Kathleen had a kit bag on one shoulder and a large leather suit case in her opposite hand. The pile of clothes that Harry had banished before leaving was substantially smaller than it had been. Margaret was lugging two kit bags full of books, while Hermione hefted a third for her friend.

Norman and George were each carrying several brooms in addition to small bags. Neville had a complete set of textbooks for next year in his bag, as well as a collection of quills and inkpots. John had found some clothes as well after using Harry's shopping method. The other boys had also found interesting odds and ends. Harry himself had a small suit case packed with clothes John hadn't wanted, but Harry thought looked nice.

"What's on the schedule for this afternoon?" John asked Harry as they walked.

"I was going to do some revising with Hermione, and then sort through my new stuff," Harry replied. "Why?"

"Oh, I just thought there might be some more adventure scheduled," John replied.

"Well, you've been there before," Harry countered, shaking his head. "That room can become almost anything you think of. Just walk in front of the door three times, thinking of what you want. Take Kathleen and have a date. House elves can get there. Go befriend one and have them bring you supper there."

"Hey, that's a great idea!" John nearly sang.

"Just stay away on Friday nights; that's my date night," Harry grinned.

"You got it, mate," John agreed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9—Dangerous Games**

Harry took in one last deep breath through his nose, then sighed and opened his eyes. The rest of the team had already left the locker room. It was Saturday, November 8, and Quidditch season at Hogwarts was about to begin.

Harry stood, adjusted his quidditch armour, grabbed his broom and strode purposefully out the locker room door and down the long hall. He pushed the door aside and the quiet was instantly breached by a thousand roaring spectators.

Immediately in front of him were the rest of the Gryffindor team. There were nine of them total, counting Harry and the reserves. He felt George had built a good team. He was much like Oliver, in that sense. True the beaters weren't twins, but they had powerful arms and wicked aims. The chaser line wasn't as good as the trio of Alicia, Angelina, and Katie, but they were very nearly so.

Harry listened as the announcer called out the Slytherin team.

"At Chaser: Frederickson, Lovell, and Travers…" The Slytherin side roared their approval. "The Beaters: Mulciber and Rosier…" More applause followed. "At Keeper: Burke. And the Captain: Seeker Orion Black!" Harry started when he heard that name. He knew, from studying the Black family tree at Grimmauld, that Orion was Sirius' father. He'd see the man in short order.

In front of him the starters of the Gryffindor side mounted their brooms. The reserves walked off to their bench. Wood looked around, finally turning to see Harry. He motioned for him to mount up.

"And now, the Gryffindor team…" the announcer called out. "At Chaser: Bell, Parker, and Thompson!" The three kicked off and shot out from under the stands and into the light. "At Beater: Lily and Maynard!" The two beaters, big hulking lads the both of them, pushed off joined the chasers circling the stadium. "At Keeper: the Captain, George Wood!" George was off like a rocket. "And at Seeker: Potter!"

Harry kicked off and leaned forward, pulling tight to the right as he broke into the open, gaining altitude as he circled anti-clockwise around the stadium. He pushed his Cleansweep 4 hard, feeling the wind whipping around his face. The noise of the crowd was more than he'd ever encountered before at Hogwarts. There were about five hundred sixty students at Hogwarts, present almost to a one, and perhaps an equal number of adults who'd come to watch the annual epic grudge match that was Slytherin versus Gryffindor.

Harry pulled up after two circuits, following George's lead. He hovered easily on his side of the pitch, awaiting the start. George flew down to meet with Orion Black and the referee, whose name he hadn't learned. Harry concentrated on Orion. He was of average height, with black hair and dark eyes. He looked much like a younger Sirius. He was thin, and wore a sneer of superiority upon his visage as he shook hands with George. His sneer was momentarily broken as the power of George's handshake overwhelmed him, but it was back as soon as the shake was ended. Harry didn't miss the slight shake of the hand once it was down, however. If he'd had blonde hair, he might as well've been a Malfoy. All pomp and no guts. Harry vowed to check that.

The referee opened the box and released the bludgers. Harry kept one eye on them as the beaters moved in. The quaffle came next, and the chasers dashed off to grab it. Play commenced immediately, but Harry waited. At last, the snitch zipped away, flitting around lightly.

Harry shot towards it, hoping to grab it immediately. It wasn't to be. He executed a quick sloth-grip roll to evade a bludger, and pressed his advantage, but that one move had alerted the snitch, and it took off. Everything else fell away as he flew: the noise of the crowd, the score of the game, all the other distractions.

He jerked up, tracking on the snitch, and poured on more speed. The snitch abruptly changed direction down, and Harry managed to pull a tight loop to follow it. He never lost sight of the thing, homing in like a missile.

Harry was so enthralled with the snitch, he collided with a shocked Orion Black, who'd been following him closely. The glancing blow was easily cleared. In a heartbeat he was past the other boy, executing a perfect spiral dive in pursuit of the snitch. Black was forgotten.

A rush of air signalled a bludger racing past him. Harry ignored it. It hadn't hit him. He continued his spiral dive, closing in on the snitch. The ground was racing up. Harry stretched out his hand. The snitch was close, but hell bent on getting away. Harry pulled up just as his fingers closed around the tiny golden ball. His feet brushed the top of the grass as he held the snitch aloft.

Suddenly, the noise was back. It seemed the whole stadium was on their feet cheering. The sound was incredible.

"And it's Potter with the snitch in a record-breaking four minutes seventeen seconds!" the announcer shouted. "Gryffindor wins one hundred sixty to nil in the fastest quidditch match this pitch has ever seen! Amazing!" Harry smiled, he'd beaten his own record of five minutes, set back in 1992 against Hufflepuff. He flew over and handed the snitch to the referee. It was mere seconds before he was engulfed by the other members of his team.

Other members of Gryffindor poured onto the pitch to celebrate with their side. Harry looked for Hermione, and found her quickly. She was accompanied by Flea, Mia, Henry, and Winifred. Harry pried himself loose from the congratulatory scrum and approached. Hermione ran up to him and wrapped him up in a big hug.

Throwing decorum to the wind, Harry kissed her soundly. Hermione replied enthusiastically.

"It would seem that their relationship has changed," Harry heard Winifred say with joy in her voice.

"Perhaps it's time to rethink Hermione's living situation," Henry commented with seeming earnest. Hermione broke the kiss, and turned, still in Harry's arms.

"Don't you dare, Lord Henry," she insisted defiantly. She put her hands over Harry's where they met around her waist. Harry could see the playful smile pulling at the adults' mouths.

"I think I can keep them in line," Mia replied to Henry, smirking. "'Cause if they step on toe out…"

"Mum," Harry cut in. "'Mione and I have done nothing improper."

"And you won't," Mia said warmly, but firmly.

"Of course not!" Harry shot back. "I wouldn't hurt 'Mione. She's the most important person in the world to me."

"Good to hear," Henry said. "That's the way it should be. Now that that interruption's out of the way, we just wanted to say, absolutely smashing job out there today. You'll have the attention of several teams if you choose to play professionally."

"Really?" Harry asked. No one had said that to him before, even after his five minute game in 1992.

"Absolutely," Flea agreed. "That was professional-level play out there today, Harry. You have outstanding talent."

"Yes," Winifred added, beaming at him. "Quite well done. We're so proud of you, Harry."

"Thank you," Harry accepted. Hermione moved out of the way so Flea and Henry could shake his hand.

"Now, don't you have a victory party to get to?" Mia said, after she'd hugged him.

"I'll make sure he gets there, Aunt Mia," Hermione allowed.

"Be sure you do, young lady," Mia said. "And no stopping in broom cupboards along the way!"

"Mum!" Harry groaned. "'Mione's way too good for a filthy broom cupboard. I wouldn't even think of it."

"Good! Now be gone with you," Mia said, waiving them away. Harry and Hermione took the cue, and returned to the cheering Gryffindors.

ooOOOOoo

"I thought you might like to commemorate today," Harry said, handing over another necklace as he met Hermione in the common room for supper that night. He placed the simple gold chain and pendant in her hand. She looked at the very fine chain and small golden snitch pendant. Its tiny wings fluttered in her hand. "I didn't have any jewellery with a 'tell your parents' theme. Sorry."

"No," Hermione stopped him. "It's perfect." She smiled up at him. "Will you put it on me? I want to wear it to supper." Harry complied quickly, finishing just in time to see Neville coming down the stairs. "Done."

"Flashy," Neville said with a grin. "I wish I had a huge stash of jewellery to give my girlfriend."

"You have a girlfriend, Nev?" Harry asked with a matching grin.

"Well… no, not as such…" Neville stammered. "It was more the general principle."

"We'll have to work on that, then," Harry pressed, lightly tapping Neville on the shoulder. "That does remind me, I've been meaning to give you something I found in the Room. Hold on."

He raced up the stairs, and quickly drew out a small box he'd prepared. It was one of several in his trunk. He returned to the common room, and presented the box to Neville without explanation.

Neville opened the box and lifted a large gold pocket watch out of a nest of cotton padding. It had a matching Albert chain comprised of smaller strands of chain braided together. At the other end of the chain was the key to wind the watch. In the middle was an enamel fob with a coat of arms emblazoned on it. Upon seeing it, Neville nearly dropped it.

"That's the Longbottom coat of arms!" He said, shakily.

"Open the lid," Harry suggested. Neville did so, and read the inscription there: _James Lyons Longbottom, January 12, 1887_.

"Lord William's father," Neville said softly. "A seventeenth birthday present, it looks like."

"He couldn't've had it long before he lost it," Harry suggested. "I thought it should be returned to its rightful owners. But there's more in there if you push the cotton aside."

Neville did so, finding a silver bracelet with the Longbottom crest inscribed: _To my darling Janet, May 3, 1850_, a pair of gold earrings bearing the Longbottom crest, and a silver comb set inscribed: _Mary Longbottom_.

"I guess Neville's not the only Longbottom to forget things," Hermione joked lightly, seeing the collection of Longbottom memorabilia Harry had amassed. Harry smiled.

"Harry, I… I don't know what to say," Neville said at last.

"You don't have to say anything, Nev," Harry replied. "That stuff belongs to your family. You should have it. I've got more packages upstairs for other families I was able to identify as well. They'll get them back at Christmas, but I wanted you to have yours as soon as I was done because you're my friend."

"Thanks," Neville said, returning the watch back to its place in the box, and replacing the cover. "I'll just run this upstairs, and be right back down."

"That was very nice what you did," Hermione said when Neville had gone.

"What do I need several hundred pieces of jewellery and watches for?" Harry asked rhetorically. "I'm sure the Potters have more than they could ever use in a vault somewhere."

"Are you lot going to supper?" Margaret Droope asked as she stepped off the girls' stairs seeing the duo standing there.

"We're waiting for Neville to get back," Hermione said. "Then we're going."

"Mind if I join you?" Margaret asked.

"Not at all," Hermione replied.

ooOOOOoo

It was cold, and had already started snowing in Scotland. The weather this year was proving unusual. Harry found himself staring out the window at the blowing snow, wondering if he should go put on a second cloak. It had been sleeting earlier, and accumulation was building up.

"Ready to go?" Hermione asked from behind him. Harry turned around and saw Hermione bundled up against the snow with Gryffindor colours. She had a crimson and yellow striped knit cap, scarf, and mittens. She was also decked out in a thick black cloak and black wellies. She looked fully prepared to brave the arctic cold outside.

"Sure," Harry said, immediately discarding the idea of another cloak. They were going to Hogsmeade after all, and would be inside much of the time. "It'll feel good to get away from this place for a bit." He held out his gloved hand to her.

"I thought you loved Hogwarts," Hermione suggested as they left the portrait hole.

"I do," Harry allowed. "But a change is appreciated."

"Ah," she observed. Then she changed tack. "I feel quite lucky."

"Oh?"

"Yes, two dates in two days," she smirked. "I can hardly believe it."

"Well, I wasn't about to give up our Friday night date just because today was a Hogsmeade weekend," Harry said, rolling his eyes in mock frustration. "Plus, there's no one else to go with, so we'd be alone anyway."

"We could double date with Neville and Marina, or John and Kathleen," Hermione suggested.

"I'm sure we'll run into them at some point," Harry pointed out as they entered the Entry Hall. "In fact…" He gestured to both couples who were standing in line to leave the castle.

"Hi Margaret," Hermione said, greeting her friend who was directly in front of them as they joined the queue.

"Hello, Hermione," Margaret answered easily. "Stepping out on the town?"

"That we are," Hermione agreed happily. "It'll be our first Hogsmeade date." She sounded excited, but like she was trying not to be.

"Perhaps I'll see you in Tomes and Scrolls," Margaret said.

"I'm sure we'll get there eventually," Harry said. He liked Margaret. She was very much like Hermione, and they got along like a house on fire. The two girls were instrumental in his academic success, as he felt as if he were getting a masters class simply by listening to them talk over their revision. He would take notes of which texts and pages they cited while they were bantering, and he'd look them up later, using many of the same citations in his own papers.

Margaret was thinner than Hermione, and reminded Harry visually of his Aunt Petunia. Her attitude couldn't've been more different, however. She was a very introverted person, but warm to her friends. Harry was happy to count himself among those. Today, Margaret was wrapped in a thick blue woollen coat with a brown cap and a Gryffindor scarf wrapped around her neck and forehead. She had solid red mittens and black wellies. The entire ensemble seemed a bit of a mess, but that was just the way the girl dressed. She didn't care much for what others thought of her, and her friends didn't mind.

As he was lost in his musings, Hermione and Margaret were carrying on an animated conversation about their most recent Herbology assignment and what effect the weather would have on the plants in the greenhouses.

Soon, they were checked out by old Pringle, who glared daggers at Harry and roughly handled the permission slip Harry had gotten from Flea.

"He doesn't like you very much," Margaret observed as they left. There was a brief pause in the conversation when the three of them stepped outside, and were assaulted by the bitter cold and blowing snow.

"That's probably because I punched him in the stomach and then stunned him whilst he was vomiting once," Harry replied offhandedly once he'd recovered from the temperature change.

"When was this?" Margaret asked, suddenly very interested, as they climbed into a waiting carriage for the trip to Hogsmeade.

"This past June," Harry replied. "We were here fulfilling the prophecy, and Pringle and Dippet mistook us for students, despite the fact that we weren't enrolled at the time. Pringle refused to listen, and struck me, so I struck back."

"You are full of surprises," Margaret said, smirking at him. The carriage lurched forward. "Quidditch genius and martial arts master…" She trailed off, having run out of accolades.

"If you say so," Harry shrugged, taking Hermione's hand as they sat.

ooOOOOoo

Harry and Hermione started their date with Margaret in the bookstore. While there, Harry bought several books for Hermione while she was distracted by Margaret. After about an hour, they abandoned her there, and made for Scrivenshaft's, where both Harry and Hermione bought more quills, ink, and parchment. From there, they went to Gladrags, as Harry needed some more socks, and a new set of robes.

The pair's next stop was lunch at the Three Broomsticks. Inside was warm, almost hot. As usual, it was packed with students. Hermione spotted their friends at a U-shaped booth with a bit more space.

"Mind if we join you lot?" Harry asked as they approached. The table was empty except for drinks.

"Plenty of room," John offered, waving hand in the direction of the empty bench across from him. Harry helped Hermione into the bench next to Neville.

"I'll go order for us, shall I?" Harry asked Hermione.

"Alright. You know what I like," Hermione allowed, and immediately dove into conversation with Marina and Kathleen. Harry elbowed his way up to the bar, where he placed his order with a wizard behind the counter. He had no idea who he was, but he wasn't Madam Rosmerta. He had no idea when she'd come along, but she probably hadn't been born yet. With the order placed, he carried two butterbeers back to the table for Hermione and himself.

"Where'd you go after that?" Hermione was asking as he sat down.

"Neville took me to Dogweed and Deathcap," Marina informed them. "He got me some new gloves for Herbology."

"I noticed she didn't have the best," Neville explained. "She could've hurt herself. They were so thin."

"My new ones are dragonhide," Marina gushed. "And they're pink!" She pulled them out of her bag and showed them off. "Aren't they precious?"

The rest of lunch passed in a similar fashion, with each of the girls talking about their dates so far, and the boys listening patiently, and waiting for their food. Together the lads said fewer than fifty words for the rest of the meal.

At the end, the three couples split up, wishing each other well. Harry and Hermione headed for Honeydukes for a sweet treat to cap off their meal. They were about halfway there when something heavy crashed into Harry's back. He stumbled forward, turning quickly, but not quickly enough to see a second ball of snow, ice, and rock flying at him. It hit his arm, leaving a bruise. Harry did manage to duck the third volley, and pulled Hermione clear.

"Get behind me!" Harry told her firmly. She backed up several steps, glancing around to look for more trouble. She didn't find any, but Harry was proud to see she kept looking. She had his back.

"Oi, you mangy twat!" called Mulciber as he approached with Rosier in tow. "Not so tough without prefects and professors, are you?"

"Rosier there's a prefect," Harry observed nonchalantly.

"And don't you forget it," Rosier said from behind his friend.

"You should leave," Harry said to them, eyes flashing. He surreptitiously palmed his wand behind his back.

"Nah," Mulciber said casually, swaggering up to Harry. "Don't think I will." He took a handful of slush from the street and ground it into Harry's head. Harry glanced around. They were attracting a crowd, but none of the other students seemed inclined to provide assistance.

"Antagonizing me isn't something you want to do," Harry said, ignoring the icy covering on his head.

"What are you going to do about it?" Mulciber sneered.

"Now that would be telling," Harry smirked back. That's when Mulciber struck, lashing out with his fist towards Harry's face. Harry dodged left, stepping easily out of the way, and sent a silent stunner at Mulciber as he passed. The stunned boy lost his balance, and fell face-first into the slushy street.

"You're in trouble now," shouted Rosier, who advanced on Harry, fists at the ready. His prefect badge was gleaming on his cloak. "I'm gonna make you hurt, and then I'm taking you to Dippet." Harry didn't wait for Rosier to reach him before stunning him as well. Rosier collapsed against a building.

Harry looked at the two stunned boys. He rolled Mulciber over so he wouldn't drown. The boy had broken his nose falling into the street and it was bleeding freely, even in the cold. Harry snorted and glanced over at Rosier, who had merely hit his head against the bricks and fallen onto his side. He'd be fine.

Then he looked at the crowd who were staring at him silently. He noticed two other prefects and the head boy standing there. None of them had helped him. Harry straightened and looked for Hermione. Without a word, he collected Hermione and they departed for Honeydukes. The crowd parted as he moved towards them, still silent.

John and Kathleen found them fifteen minutes later in Honeydukes.

"What the hell did you do, mate?" John asked, aghast.

"I assume you're talking about my run-in with Mulciber and Rosier?" Harry asked. "I defended myself."

"You should've run," John said. "You don't want those families pissed at you."

"I'm not afraid of them," Harry said evenly. "And I'm tired of people pushing me around. I won't stand for it any more."

"Harry, those families will kill you!" John whispered fiercely.

"We'll see," Harry replied calmly. He and Hermione finished shopping and moved on to Zonko's.

ooOOOOoo

"Mr. Potter," a male voice said off to his side as he and Hermione exited Zonkos. Harry looked to see Professor Beery, the twenty-one year old Herbology professor walking towards him.

"Good afternoon, professor," Harry said cordially.

"I've been sent to collect you," the professor said. He was non-threatening, young, and a generally likeable man.

"The headmaster?" Harry asked, piecing things together.

"Yes," Professor Beery replied. "He's waiting on you with Rosier, Mulciber, and their parents."

"You'd better take these," Harry said to Hermione, handing off his purchases. "I don't think I'll be back in time to conclude our date."

"Be careful, Harry," Hermione admonished, taking the packages.

"I will," Harry replied. "I love you."

"Love you, too," Hermione smiled sadly. Harry gave her a kiss and turned to Professor Beery.

"Has my father been called?"

"I don't believe so," Professor Beery said.

Harry pulled out his wand and cast the Patronus charm. Prongs leapt from his wand and stood in the street.

"Go and tell my father I'm being taken to the Headmaster's office for fighting," Harry instructed. "I was attacked by Mulciber and Rosier and defended myself. Their fathers are present in the Headmaster's office. Please come at once. That's all." The stag nodded and galloped off.

"Impressive charm work," Beery noted.

"I'm just glad I can do that charm," Harry replied. "I don't like being ganged up on by adults without an advocate present for myself."

"I'm sure this is all just a misunderstanding," Beery said.

"I doubt it," Harry replied. "The simple truth is that Mulciber didn't like the fact that I stood up for myself, and decided to get violent. I suppose he's not used to people responding in kind. Add to that, that the Headmaster doesn't like me very much. I'm sure he's going to use this as an excuse to expel me." Beery, not knowing how to reply to that, lapsed into silence.

They'd just passed the front gate when a call of, "Harry!" came from behind them. Harry turned to see Flea running up the walk. Harry and Beery paused to let Flea catch up.

"I'm here," Flea said as he pulled up next to Harry. He nodded firmly, and without another word, strode purposefully towards the castle with Harry quickly joining him and Professor Beery hurrying to keep up. In minutes they were at the Headmaster's office.

"Mr. Potter," Dippet said as he entered. "So nice of you to join us." His voice was dripping with as much sarcasm as his advanced age could muster, but he quickly rearranged his features when Flea entered the room. "Mr. Potter," he said calmly. "What are you doing here?"

"I was informed that my son was being brought to your office after being involved in a fight," Flea replied easily, glancing at Mulciber and Rosier's fathers, who were already seated with their sons.

"Yes," Dippet said. "Harry was involved in a fight with Mr. Rosier and Mr. Mulciber in Hogsmeade. Apparently, he attacked Mr. Mulciber, giving him a bloody nose, and then knocked Mr. Rosier in the head. They were both rendered unconscious."

"Is that the lie they've come up with, then?" Harry asked.

"It's no lie!" the younger Rosier shouted, starting to rise from his seat. His father held him back.

"Mr. Potter," Dippet said smoothly. "I trust my prefects. If one of them comes to me saying you attacked him, I believe it. I know you to be a violent boy, and that only lends credence to their accusations."

"Perhaps you'd care to view a pensieve memory of the event, Headmaster?" Harry said. "I'm sure you have one around somewhere."

"I wouldn't trust your pensieve memory," the elder Mulciber scoffed. "You probably faked one up."

"Perhaps a neutral party's memory, then?" Harry suggested. "My girlfriend Hermione saw the whole thing. If you don't trust her, I know the Head Boy saw the fight as well, along with about two dozen other students, including a couple of prefects. I think I saw Rosewood from Ravenclaw and Peterson from Hufflepuff in the crowd. Would you trust their pensieve memories?"

"Unfortunately," Dippet said calmly, "I don't have a pensieve about." It was clear he thought he'd ended the conversation.

"Well, then, perhaps you could dose us all with veritasserum," Harry tried. "That should establish the truth."

"My son will not be taking veritasserum!" Mulciber growled.

"I don't have any of that, either," Dippet inserted, attempting to appear disappointed at the fact.

"I can have either a pensieve or veritasserum here in ten minutes," Flea said. "I for one, would like to know the truth."

"The truth," Dippet growled, becoming unfriendly at last, "is that your son is a nuisance. He's a violent young man who attacks his betters, and has a bad attitude. He viciously attacked two scions of pureblood families without provocation."

"No one in this room is my son's better, Dippet, including yourself," Flea said dangerously. "And he, himself is the scion of a pureblood family, and one of greater pedigree than both of these two combined."

"I'll see him expelled!" raged Dippet. "He attacked these boys. He's lucky I've not called the Aurors!"

"Why didn't you call the Aurors?" Flea asked. "After all, it didn't happen on school grounds. This should be an Auror matter."

"They're all boys attending Hogwarts," Dippet immediately backtracked. "Therefore it is a school matter."

"I disagree," Flea said. "That's why I took the liberty of calling the Aurors. They should be here soon."

"You meddling bastard," the elder Rosier said, standing. His wand was in his hand in an instant. "Your son is an interfering little turd, and you're no better. You'd better watch your back, Potter…"

"Threatening people again, Rosier?" a new voice asked. Harry turned and recognized Auror Barty Crouch, who he'd last seen in this office months ago. With him was Auror Moody, two other men Harry didn't know, and surprisingly, Lord Henry.

"Dippet, you moron," Lord Henry started angrily. "What sort of half-baked school are you running here? You give these two nascent dark lords a free reign while threatening to expel one of your best students? And what about that bollocks that you have neither a pensieve nor veritasserum? You're a sorry excuse for a Headmaster. Even Black was better than you!" Dippet was so taken aback that he couldn't register a rebuttal to Lord Henry's verbal assault. Auror Crouch filled the void.

"I have a team combing the students in the village for witness statements," Crouch informed the room. "If Headmaster Dippet lacks the necessary means to get truthful statements from those involved, we can all head down to the Ministry."

"Er…" Dippet stammered for a moment. "If you'd be kind enough to give me a moment, I might be able to locate something." Dippet rose and retreated into his private chambers.

"My son will not be taking veritasserum," the elder Mulciber reiterated once Dippet had gone.

"As a minor, he doesn't have the option of declining," Crouch replied.

Mulciber shot to his feet, joining the elder Rosier who was still standing from earlier. He raised his wand, "_Avada_…" Harry sprang into action and lunged forward, pushing Mulciber's arm up. …_Kedavra!_" Off balance, Harry fell at Mulciber's feet and began rolling out of the way. The killing curse hit the wall over the door, blasting several of the stones to dust, and raining small stone chips down on the group.

Moody reacted first and stunned Mulciber. As Rosier's wand arm came up, Crouch stunned him too. The two boys were still in their seats, frozen in fear at what'd happened.

"Don't even think of trying anything!" Moody growled out, pointing his wand menacingly at the two. The other two Aurors raised their wands to cover the boys as well. Crouch walked over to Mulciber and plucked his wand from his fingers and restunned him.

"Your father just got life in Azkaban," Crouch told the younger Mulciber, pausing for a second. "For something as stupid as a schoolboy's fight." Mulciber's nostrils flared, but he kept silent. Rosier was restunned as well, and Moody bound them up. He and one of the other Aurors levitated them out of the room.

When they were gone, Dippet returned to find the two fathers gone, wands trained on the Slytherins, and Lord Henry repairing the office's stonework. He was levitating a pensieve in front of him.

"James Mulciber's under arrest for using an unforgivable on an Auror," Crouch informed him as Dippet put the pensieve on the table with a questioning look on his face. At Crouch's explanation, Dippet sighed, looking almost despondent. Crouch paid him no mind. "Now, Mr. Potter, if you please, your memory from before the incident started, until after the incident concluded, in the pensieve."

Harry thought hard, placed his wand to his temple and drew out the silvery tendril of memory, dropping it in the pensieve. The substance swirled around in the bowl and Harry caught flashes of movement in the mist.

"Very good," Crouch approved. He turned to the other boys. "Will you provide memories, or do we have to dose you with veritasserum?" Without a word, the two boys slowly moved their wands to their temples and extracted their own memories, dropping them in the bowl. "Thank you, boys." With a nod to the other Auror, and the Headmaster, Crouch entered the pensieve to view the memories.

Harry moved back to lean against the wall and wait with Lord Henry and Flea. The Slytherins put their wands away under the watchful eye of the last Auror. The Headmaster sighed, defeated, and sat in his chair. No one said anything. About a half hour later, Crouch reappeared, brushing off his robes as he straightened up.

"After viewing the memories, I can say they seemed substantially similar," Crouch informed the adults. "Mr. Mulciber and Mr. Rosier threw balls of snow, ice, and rock at Mr. Potter, and then verbally accosted him in the street. Mr. Mulciber then attempted to physically assault Mr. Potter with his fist. This action was deflected by Mr. Potter, who stunned Mr. Mulciber to end the encounter before it could become a general brawl. Mr. Rosier then moved to attack Mr. Potter, who then also stunned Mr. Rosier, but before he could carry out his attack.

"Injuries observed were that Mr. Potter was struck in the back several times by projectile, Mr. Mulciber broke his nose in the fall after being stunned, and Mr. Rosier hit his head against a wall after being stunned. During the confrontation, Mr. Rosier used his status as a prefect to suggest action might be taken against him by Hogwarts should Mr. Potter try to defend himself from attack.

"The entire encounter was observed initially by six students, including the girl Mr. Potter was accompanying and one other prefect just down the street. During the encounter, more students arrived to observe, including the Head Boy. The total number of bystanders by the end was twenty-seven. None of the other students moved to intervene or defuse the situation. The situation ended when Mr. Potter left the scene. The Head Boy revived the two aggressors after that."

Crouch then waved his wand over the pensieve, extracting the three memories, and placed them in some vials he pulled from his robes. He corked the vials and returned them to his robes, securing the evidence."

"Since the incident only involved Hogwarts students and occurred during term, with the evidence provided, I see this as an internal matter," Dippet began, leaning forward slowly. "Mr. Mulciber, Mr. Rosier, I'm very disappointed in you both. Twenty points each from…"

"Have you lost your mind, Dippet?" Lord Potter interrupted. "These two morons assaulted an heir of an ancient and noble house in a public street. Regardless of the fact that all are students, this happened outside of Hogwarts and is a legal matter." He turned to Crouch. "I want them both formally charged with assault and conspiracy to commit assault. I believe you have enough evidence to do so?"

"I do," Crouch agreed. He pulled out his wand and quickly summoned the Slytherins' wands, pocketing them. "Mr. Lesilie Mulciber and Mr. Bernard Rosier, you are hereby under arrest for the assault of Mr. Harry Potter, which occurred today in Hogsmeade, and for conspiring to conduct such assault. The maximum sentence for a guilty verdict in these cases is nine months in Azkaban: six for assault and three for conspiracy. At this time you will come with me to the Ministry to await trial. Upon arrival, you will have the opportunity to contact your family and arrange a barrister to assist you at trial. Do you have any questions?"

Both boys looked stunned, and Dippet looked shocked and very upset. None of them said anything. The two Slytherins shook their heads in unison.

"Please stand," Crouch instructed. They did so and Crouch put them in Magic-dampening manacles. "Good day to you, Headmaster," Crouch said, before leading the two boys out the door with the other Auror in tow.

When the door had closed, Lord Henry pushed himself off the wall and strode over to the desk, slapping the desk firmly with both hands and leaning over the sitting Dippet. The headmaster looked suddenly very afraid.

"I trust my grandson won't be called into your office for any more disturbances," Lord Henry said dangerously. "This school is supposed to be a place of learning, yet in the space of less than a year, Harry has been physically assaulted by the caretaker, a prefect, and another student; and he was exposed to a thousand year old basilisk and a killing curse. To top it off, you seem to have some kind of vendetta against my grandson. I don't give a goat fart if you don't like my grandson, but the moment you let your dislike of him affect his education or well-being again, and I'll see you out of this castle so fast you'll get whiplash. Have I made myself clear, Headmaster?"

"Lord Potter," Dippet said, voice shaking. "Kindly remove your hands from my desk." Lord Henry did so, and Dippet seemed to recover some of his spine. He continued more sure of himself. "Let us dispense with the fiction that Mr. Potter is your grandson. We both know that he is not. It would be a pity if the newspaper became aware of his true identity…"

Dippet was pulled up short by Lord Henry's loud guffaw. He laughed uncontrollably for almost half a minute before he could collect himself.

"Headmaster," he said finally, wiping a tear from his eye. "Surely you don't think we took steps to protect that information? It's protected under a _Fidelius_ Charm. You couldn't tell anyone who doesn't know the secret, even if you wanted to. So stop trying to blackmail me and go back to doing what you do best and ignore your students, particularly Harry."

"It's you who should be careful," Dippet replied. "Tobias Rosier will be out of a Ministry cell by the end of the day. James Mulciber will probably get a slap on the wrist…"

"You seem awfully tight with Mulciber and Rosier, Headmaster," Lord Henry observed. "I wonder, if someone were to investigate their finances whether they would find a connection to you?" Dippet blanched, and Lord Henry struck. "Mulciber will get life in Azkaban for using an unforgivable at an Auror. I'm making it my goal in life to see that come to pass. My next stop's the Ministry, and I'll ask they pump that bastard so full of veritasserum it'll come out his ears. Then I'll suggest they question him about his connection to you. And I don't give a toss about Rosier… If that inbred bumsucker comes after me or mine, the Aurors won't be able to find his body. Now stop threatening me, and stop bothering my grandson. Good day."

Lord Henry swept out of the room. Flea pulled Harry along as he followed. They made their way down to the entry hall and out onto the grounds and into the blowing snow. Rather than heading for the gate as Harry had anticipated, Lord Henry led them over to the Black Lake. He stopped along the rocky shore and looked around. There wasn't another person in sight.

"I can see," Lord Henry said in a calm voice, "that we're going to have to do a better job educating you about Wizarding society." Harry didn't say anything. He didn't even nod. He just listened. "Mulciber and Rosier are both dark families. Stay away from any other Mulcibers and Rosiers who might be students here. Stay away from the other dark families too… Damn, you don't really know who they are… Be very careful when interacting with the last name Avery, Black, Bulstrode, Burke, Carrow, Flint, Gaunt, LeStrange, Malfoy, Nott, Parkinson, Rosier, Rowle, Selwyn, Travers, or Yaxley. Dark families tend to…"

"Shoot first, aim to kill, hide the body, and lie their arses off later, sir?" Harry prompted at last. Lord Henry nodded in reply.

"They control the Wizengamot, and push the pureblood agenda," Lord Henry added. "They watch out for each other, and help each other out of tough spots."

"Will they try to help the Mulcibers and Rosiers?" Harry asked.

"They'll try," Lord Henry allowed. "Fortunately, the Aurors have James Mucliber dead to rights on the unforgivable charge, and I think with the pensieve memories, the Aurors won't have any trouble putting the sons away. Rosier will probably get a fine." Lord Henry sighed.

"I'm sorry," Harry said sincerely.

"No!" Lord Henry said firmly. "You defended yourself like a Potter should. You did everything right. You tried to diffuse the tension with words, you didn't strike first, and you ended the confrontation with the minimum of force needed. I'm proud of you, Harry."

"But now the dark families will come after us, won't they?" Harry asked, knowing the answer.

"They've been out for the Potters for centuries," Lord Henry said with a warm grin. "They haven't gotten us yet, and they won't get us this time. We just need to be ready." He clapped Harry on the back. "I've got to go and ensure justice is done. I'll see you and Hermione at Christmas."

Flea nodded, and hugged Harry, before following Lord Henry without a word. Harry glanced around again, before heading back inside.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10—The Aftermath**

"Mulcibers Guilty! Rosiers Exonerated!" blared the headline in the _Daily Prophet_ on Friday, November 21st. Harry peered over Hermione's shoulder to read the rest of the headline story as she ate her breakfast while absorbing the paper.

_In a highly anticipated series of trials, four members of the Sacred Twenty-eight were charged with a variety of crimes connected to an incident which happened on Saturday last in Hogsmeade, and later at Hogwarts._

_Leslie Mulciber and Bernard Rosier, both Slytherin sixth years, began throwing snowballs at Harry Potter, a Gryffindor sixth year, outside a shop in Hogsmeade during one of Hogwarts' Hogsmeade weekends. The two Slytherins accosted Mr. Potter verbally, according to eyewitness reports. Mr. Potter responded, goading the two boys to violence. Mr. Mulciber threw a punch, but missed, and was stunned by Mr. Potter. Mr. Mulciber broke his nose in the resulting fall._

_Trying to get the situation under control, Mr. Rosier stated that he was taking Mr. Potter to the Headmaster to administer punishment for fighting. Mr. Potter refused, stunning Mr. Rosier as well. Mr. Rosier suffered a bump to the head as the result of his stunning. Mr. Potter then left the scene in the company of Hermione Granger, another Gryffindor sixth year. Mr. Mulciber and Mr. Rosier were revived immediately after by Hogwarts Head Boy, Grahame Travers._

_The three boys were called to the Headmaster's office where they and their fathers discussed the situation. Headmaster Armando Dippet attempted to treat the matter as a school incident, but Mr. Fleamont Potter, Harry Potter's father, demanded it be treated as a criminal matter. Lord Henry Potter, head of House Potter, arrived with six Aurors to investigate. Four Aurors accompanied Lord Potter to the Headmaster's office. There, Auror Barty Crouch attempted to investigate the crime, but was impeded in his efforts by Mr. James Mulciber, Leslie Mulciber's father._

_Mr. Mulciber insisted that his son would not be interrogated using _veritasserum_. Auror Crouch informed Mr. Mulciber that as a juvenile, his son did not have the option to refuse. At that time, Mr. Mulciber pulled his wand on Auror Crouch and cast the killing curse. Harry Potter leapt forward and pushed Mr. Mulciber's hand, ruining his aim and saving Auror Crouch's life. Mr. Mulciber was then stunned by another Auror. Mr. Rosier, fearing for his life and safety, pulled his wand to defend himself, but was also stunned by the Auror._

_Following the stunning of the elder Messrs. Mulciber and Rosier, the younger Messrs. Mulciber, Rosier, and Potter all provided memories of their encounter in Hogsmeade to Auror Crouch who, upon viewing them, took the younger Messrs. Mulciber and Rosier into custody for assault and conspiracy to commit assault._

_The four trials took place Thursday, after extensive investigation._

_The first trial of the morning was Mr. Leslie Mulciber's. He entered Courtroom Number 10, and was sat at the defence table. At the beginning of the trial, the Ministry introduced the three pensieve memories, as well as oral testimony of eyewitnesses. Mr. Mulciber's barrister, Mr. Ethan Chalke, protested the pensieve memories, but was overruled. The Wizengamot viewed the memories, and listened to the court clerk read the oral testimonies. Mr. Mulciber refused to take the stand in his own defence. Following the hour-long trial, the Wizengamot found Mr. Mulciber guilty, and sentenced him to nine months in Azkaban._

_The second trial of the morning was Mr. Bernard Rosier's. He was sat at the defence table after Mr. Mulciber was removed to custody. His barrister, Mr. Hammond Jones, did not protest the use of pensieve memories, and instead, used it to show that Mr. Rosier, while engaging in the snowball throwing, did not strike first. He went on to argue that, "My client was angry that Mr. Potter refused to come with him. He is a prefect, and charged with enforcing discipline. He had a right to detain Mr. Potter and take him to the Headmaster." That argument was persuasive, and, in an hour and a half-long trial, Mr. Rosier was acquitted of the charges against him._

_The Wizengamot recessed until after lunch. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement used their time well. They plied Mr. Leslie Mulciber with veritasserum, and learned of a scheme whereby his father, Mr. James Mulciber would imperious young women and girls, and force them to return to his manor, where he would command them to pleasure himself and his son. Mr. James Mulciber would then obliviate them, and return them to their homes._

_After lunch, Mr. Tobias Rosier was tried. Mr. Hammond Jones acted as his barrister, and successfully argued that Mr. Rosier did not attack anyone, and the act of merely pulling out a wand is not an offensive one. With no crime being committed, Mr. Rosier was released with the apologies of the Wizengamot._

_The final trial was that of Mr. James Mulciber, accused of casting the killing curse, and with the added charges of multiple castings of the imperious curse, and sexual assault. He was joined at the defence table by his son, who had been charged with sexual assault and failure to report a crime for his part in his father's crimes. Mr. Ethan Chalke represented both defendants. Auror Crouch and Auror Alastor Moody both testified that Mr. James Mulciber did cast the killing curse. _Priori incantatem_ was performed on the wand, showing the killing curse was cast, and the Wizengamot viewed a pensieve memory taken from Auror Crouch. Mr. Leslie Mulciber was then brought forward to testify against his father, under protest from Mr. Chalke. Mr. Leslie Mulciber was dosed with _veritasserum_, and questioned as to his father's activities. He also admitted, under _veritasserum_ that he had taken part in the crimes once the women had been brought to the Mulciber's house. In a three hour trial, Mr. James Mulciber was sentenced to life imprisonment for the repeated use of unforgivable curses and sexual assault. Mr. Leslie Mulciber was sentenced to an additional nine years in prison, for eight separate sexual assaults and failing to report the commission of various crimes._

Harry grunted.

"That's one way to phrase our encounter," he said darkly, shovelling a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

"Look!" Hermione said, pointing to another connected article. He did, and grinned. Unsurprisingly to Harry, further investigation into the Mulcibers had implicated Dippet in a bribery scheme.

The article took up as much space as the one about the trials. It explained that Dippet had been questioned the afternoon before by Aurors, uncovering a wide variety of direct payments from various dark families in exchange for special considerations. That usually meant selection as a prefect or head boy or girl, but could also be for allowing some usually restricted activity, such as allowing someone younger than third year going to Hogsmeade.

Lord Henry had avoided being swept up in that net by donating the money that allowed Harry to take his Ancient Runes and Arithmancy independent study courses directly to the school, rather than Dippet. Harry realized that the lighter houses would almost all have done that, as he didn't see a single light house implicated in _Prophet_.

While Dippet didn't face any criminal charges, the article explained, things didn't look good for the Headmaster.

"I wonder what'll happen to Dippet now," Harry said at last, eyes flicking up to the head table where the Headmaster was sullenly eating some toast with jam. A paper was spread out under his plate.

There was a commotion at the door, and as Harry and his friends watched, two men walked across the great hall and up to Dippet. By the time they finished their impromptu meeting, all eyes were on the Headmaster and his new companions. One of them straightened and cleared his throat.

"If I may have your attention!" he called. The noise level didn't change, as no one had been talking. "Due to recent events, Professor Dippet has agreed to resign as Headmaster of Hogwarts." Looking around quickly, no one looked too surprised by this announcement. What followed, though, floored everyone. "The Board of Governors, after an emergency meeting this morning, therefore appoints Professor Cuthbert Binns as the new Headmaster. Let's all give Professor Binns a round of congratulatory applause."

The man and his companion began clapping, but the hall might as well have been empty considering how their lone claps echoed in the room. Everyone was astounded. Binns was… not Headmaster material. Even Binns was too shocked to move for a few moments. Eventually, the other professors collected themselves enough to join in the applause, and the rest of the school followed half-heartedly.

"Now what?" Harry asked Hermione.

"Dunno. Regardless, he'll be dead by 1950 so long as the timeline holds up," she replied.

ooOOOOoo

The rumour running around school two days later was that the dark members of the Hogwarts Board: a Black, a LeStrange, and a Malfoy; weren't well pleased that so many dark families' questionable dealings had been made public as a result of Dippet's incompetence, and that the Headmaster wasn't able to protect pureblood students who 'got into a little mischief'. After some heated disagreement between the light and dark factions of the board the next most senior faculty member was appointed Headmaster.

While Binns was no friend to the light, he wasn't dark per se, merely heavily prejudiced against non-humans. Harry took some solace in the fact that Binns would soon die, leaving the post vacant for Dumbledore, who was the next most senior faculty member. As far as Harry could tell, Binns hadn't changed anything except stripping Rosier of his prefect's badge, which had happened at supper on Friday. Harry had heard whispers that that was the price the dark faction had paid for the light side allowing Binns to accede to the post.

Apparently, following his abrupt demotion, Rosier was out for blood, and had sworn vengeance on Harry Potter. Harry had had the word from Marina Abbott, who'd heard from another Hufflepuff who was friends with a Slytherin.

The rest of term continued apace. Harry continued to develop his friend group, practice quidditch, study hard, and, most importantly, date Hermione. After his grandfather's warning he never travelled alone, and remained alert when moving outside Gryffindor Tower. That vigilance paid off the first Saturday in December.

Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Marina were walking to the library to study together when Harry heard a curse being cast behind them. Without thinking, he pushed Hermione to the floor, falling with her. At the same time he spun and pulled out his wand. He quickly acquired the target: Rosier. Alphard Black, the new Slytherin sixth year prefect, and Albert Ross were with him. Before Neville had even reacted to the purple spell whizzing past his shoulder, Harry had already fired a stunner and rolled into an alcove behind a suit of armour.

Black and Ross joined the fray. Black fired a blasting curse at the armour. Ross tried to stun Marina. Black's curse hit, exploding the suit hiding Harry, who quickly decamped farther into the alcove. The stunner missed.

Now fully aware, Neville was very angry. He stepped in front of Marina and fired off a stunner at Ross. The Slytherin dropped like a stone. Harry fired another stunner at Black, who dodged. Frustrated, Harry fired stunner after stunner down the hallway. The onslaught provided sufficient cover for Neville and Marina to take up a safer position farther down the hall behind a corner. Black tried to follow Neville. He cast an odd blue curse that made a wet sound when it impacted the wall, but he didn't make it any farther than that. He was felled by one of Harry's stunners.

Rosier was busy reviving Ross. Hermione cast a jelly-legs jinx at him. She immediately followed it up with a jelly-finger jinx. Both hit and Rosier collapsed and dropped his wand. Harry followed up with a disarming charm at Ross, who was still sitting up. He rolled away down the hall as Harry snatched his wand out of the air.

Seeing the danger was averted, Harry and Hermione left their niche and approached the stunned Black, unconscious Ross, and Rosier. Harry thought he looked pathetic, writhing around on the ground. He was trying and failing to pick up his wand with his jelly fingers. Harry bent down and took it, holding the wand in his hand. Hermione went to collect Black's wand.

"I'll kill you, Potter!" Rosier shouted as he managed to roll over to look up at Harry.

"I had no fight with you," Harry calmly replied, silencing the boy with the wave of his wand. "You only have issue with me because of your friend Mulciber. If you'd simply left him to fight his own battles, you wouldn't have been dragged into court, your father's bribes of Dippet wouldn't be known, and you'd still have your prefect's badge. Now, however, you've committed the same mistake Mulciber did… Now Black and Ross will want revenge. They were humiliated because you needed help, not because they had an issue with me. You've widened a war that wasn't yours to begin with. And it all started because Mulciber insulted Hermione and shoved past her on the train. What a stupid reason to ruin a family… Do you want your family ruined over someone else's insult to a schoolgirl? Do they?" Harry gestured to Black and Ross. "Let's find out."

Harry levitated Ross over next to Black. He bound them both, then revived them. He spoke as they were still coming back to themselves.

"I'm sorry you were involved in this," Harry began. "I have no fight with you, and I hope, aside from some misguided loyalty, you and your families have no fight with me and mine." The two boys looked confused. Harry didn't give them a chance to speak, and continued. "It would be a pity if the Blacks and Rosses were pulled into a fight started over Leslie Mulciber's ill-conceived insult to Hermione on the Hogwarts Express." Black and Ross both looked surprised at that.

"If he'd just been more polite to a stranger, we'd have never truly met," Harry explained. "He, of course, took offence that I defended my grandfather's ward verbally, and decided he had some sort of vendetta against me. This culminated in his assault against me in Hogsmeade, his trial, and his incarceration. It also exposed Dippet's dealings. Finally, his decision to enlist the help of Rosier, here," Harry gestured to the boy still writhing on the ground, "led to Rosier's humiliation, trial, and demotion from prefect. Now, Rosier has enlisted you to fight Mulciber's quixotic battle." Harry looked sadly at the two boys.

"The Blacks and Rosses are both honourable families," Harry pivoted. "I understand your devotion to your friends and your house. I do. I just wanted you to be aware of the feud you're entering, and that its ramifications stretch far beyond the walls of the castle. What would Lord Black say if he discovered he'd been drawn into a costly feud over a schoolboy's insult? I don't want this to destroy any more families, and I don't think you do either.

"No one, other than the people here now," he gestured at the three of them, Hermione, and Neville and Marina standing just a few feet away, "know what happened here. There has been no public humiliation for anyone. I don't like gloating, and neither does Neville. Hermione and Marina aren't gossips. This can be the end of it. No one has to find out what happened. You can both go your separate ways, honour intact. No one's families need know. What say you?" He waved his wand and silenced them.

"This is all because Mulciber insulted Granger back in September?" Black asked.

"That's correct," Harry agreed. Hermione nodded. Black glared at Mulciber. Ross wasn't looking to friendly either.

"What did you do to Rosier?" Ross wanted to know.

"Other than stunning him during the fight in Hogsmeade, nothing," Harry replied. "He might be a little upset because he caught Hermione, another student, and I out of bounds a few weeks after the start of term and Professor Silver came along and took us to Dumbledore. It meant that Rosier couldn't take us to Dippet and get rewarded.

"I think on the whole," Harry continued, "I've been very tolerant. I've been the subject of several pranks and attempted pranks from Mulciber and Rosier and not retaliated. Perhaps you're aware of some of them." Black and Ross both nodded. "With the exception of Hogsmeade, this has been an entirely one-sided obsession of Mulciber and Rosier."

Black was nodding. Ross looked to Black, and then glanced back at Rosier.

"What about Rosier?" Ross asked.

"I'm a little lost on that," Harry admitted. "I would like to turn him in, but if you both agree to leave me and my family alone, I don't want to get you involved. If I turn him in, I'm afraid he might divulge your participation."

"Let us worry about that," Black said. "Turn him in. We'll make sure he doesn't gas on us."

"Yeah," Ross readily agreed. Harry waved his wand and the bindings vanished. Harry extended his hand to Black, pulling him to his feet.

"I'm sorry, Potter," Black said diplomatically as Harry handed him back his wand. "I didn't know. Rosier fed us a load of tripe…. Made it sound like you'd attacked them a bunch of times."

"It's alright," Harry replied. "I know how not having the full story can adversely influence your decisions."

Harry helped Ross up too, and handed his wand back. Before Ross could speak, Black kicked Rosier hard in the stomach. The boy vomited on the floor.

"If you gas on us, that'll be the least of what happens to you. Understand?" Black threatened dangerously. Rosier, still silenced, nodded vehemently. "You'd better." He nodded to Harry. Without another word, Black and Ross left.

"Now what do I do with you?" Harry mused.

ooOOOOoo

The fallout from the hallway incident filled the rest of the term. Harry had ended up stunning Rosier before ending the jelly jinxes. He left Rosier on the floor of the hall, and proceeded to Dumbledore's office, where he reported that he'd been attacked by Rosier, and that he was in the hallway near the library. A bemused Dumbledore accepted Rosier's wand, before leaving to find Professor Slughorn to deal with the wayward Slytherin.

Binns was made aware of the incident, and after consulting with Dumbledore and Slug horn, also talked to Harry, Hermione, Neville, Marina, and Rosier (separately). Rosier had evidently been cowed by Black's threat, and said he'd attacked Harry alone. Binns elected to suspend Rosier for the rest of term. He was out of the castle that night.

To Harry's surprise, Black and Ross seemed to have convinced the other Slytherins that Rosier had been lying to them about what had really been going on, and that Mulciber and Rosier were giving them bad names.

From Marina, Harry learned that Alphard Black had apparently informed his housemates that the two absent boys were not particularly cunning, and while certainly ambitious, perhaps espoused more Gryffindor traits such as recklessness in their encounters with Harry. Black then went on to remind his housemates that loyalty was a Hufflepuff trait, and the other Slytherins owed Mulciber and Rosier nothing, especially if such loyalty hindered their own ambitions.

The end result was that Harry had one of the least eventful Decembers he could remember after that first Sunday.

ooOOOOoo

"What are we doing this time?" Hermione asked as Harry escorted her to the Room of Requirement on December 19th. It was their last date night before the end of term. They'd be heading home on the Express tomorrow morning.

"Now that'd be telling," Harry grinned. "Don't get me wrong, I'm so lucky to have a family at last, and I can't wait to get back to them… But I realize that we're not going to get to have the same amount of privacy at home that we have here, and I intend to make the most of the time we do have."

"Harry…" Hermione said slowly, trying to phrase her words so they didn't dampen his enthusiasm. "I'm not ready to take things much farther than we've already gone." Harry could tell she was nervous of his reaction. So far they'd done a lot of snogging, a lot of cuddling, and recently graduated to a very small amount of over-the-clothes petting.

"That's not what I meant at all," Harry replied, allaying her fears. "Just wait." He led her to the room, and paced before the wall. The door appeared and Harry opened it, revealing a full-sized cinema. It was elaborately decorated with gold mouldings and other fancy details like the elite cinema houses of the 1930s in America. Hermione gasped.

"Why don't you find a seat, while I go get the film spun up?" Harry suggested. He wandered back to the projection booth, and Hermione found a seat in the middle. Soon, the lights dimmed, and the screen flickered to life. Harry joined her a moment later, passing her popcorn and a fizzy drink.

"Where did you get these?" she asked.

"An elf helped me out," Harry supplied. "He brought the food, and he's running the projector for me."

"What elf?" Hermione asked.

"Sam," Harry said. "He's one of Lord Henry's elves. He actually insisted on helping me, once he heard my problem."

"What problem?"

"I needed to get a film, didn't I?" He grinned again.

"What film did you get?" she asked.

"If you wait a minute, you'll find out," Harry replied lightly. Hermione huffed and turned to the front, leaning against Harry. She took a drink from her fizzy drink, a Coke. Then the opening frames of _Miracle on 34__th__ Street_ flashed across the screen.

"I love this film!" she whispered to him. He just grinned at her. "You know they remade it just about a year before we came back?" Harry playfully shushed her, then put an arm around her, pulling her closer. She snuggled in to his nook and returned to the film with a smile on her face.

ooOOOOoo

"What are you lot doing for Christmas this year?" Neville asked Harry and Hermione as they settled into their compartment on the Express. He was sitting suspiciously close to Marina, while John and Kathleen, and Margaret looked on.

"Dunno," Harry shrugged. "Dad didn't mention anything special." He'd written, of course, to let Flea and Mia know he and Hermione were coming home over the break. Flea had written back, but said little about a proposed itinerary. "How about you?"

"I was going to visit Marina early next week," Neville revealed, blushing slightly.

"Really?" Kathleen asked, leaning around Marina to beam at both of them. "Anything you'd like to let us know, Neville? Marina?"

"Nothing you need concern yourself with, you gossipy hag," Marina replied in a joking manner.

"She's getting defensive," Kathleen said triumphantly. "I think we've just discovered Hogwarts' newest couple!"

"Fine," sulked Marina. "We're going on a date on Sunday night. Happy?"

"Details," Kathleen pushed.

"Ask him," Marina said, pointing at Neville. "I know nothing except that he's picking me up at five."

"And before you ask, I'm not ruining the surprise for her," Neville stated firmly. Talk turned to other matters as the whistle blew and the train lurched from the station.

ooOOOOoo

The break seemed to pass both quickly and slowly for Harry. The whole family flooed to London on Sunday so that Harry and Hermione could shop for Christmas. Flea went to work after the weekend, leaving Harry and Hermione with Mia. Rain kept them inside much of the time, though on Tuesday Mia took Harry and Hermione to London again, where they visited the British Museum and the National Gallery.

Harry and Hermione spent much of the time reading, studying, or talking. Mia generally left them alone, preferring to tidy up, listen to the radio, read, and cook. One of Lord Henry's house elves came in to clean twice a week and frowned on anyone else doing the heavy housework. It was during the pre-Christmas period that Mia had a long talk with Hermione about house elves, and their symbiotic relationship with magical folk. It took nearly half a day, but Hermione finally admitted that keeping house elves was necessary. She still swore that she'd see legislation passed to make harming house elves a crime, a goal Mia fervently agreed with.

On Christmas Eve, Flea, Mia, Harry and Hermione all flooed to Peverell Court, Lord Henry's home, and the seat of the Potter family. Harry went through the grate after Flea, but before Hermione and Mia. He stumbled slightly on the dismount, but recovered quickly. Brushing his suit off, he moved aside and looked around.

Flea was watching the floo next to Harry. Lord Henry and Lady Winifred were beaming at him. Another couple slightly younger than Flea was next to them, with who Harry assumed was their son. Beside them was a woman, almost as old as Lord Henry. He recognized John and Margaret Abbott near some double doors to the left. As he was looking around, Hermione and Mia stepped from the fireplace.

"Now that you're all here, welcome home," Lord Henry said. "Shall we retire to the parlour where we can make introductions?" Everyone nodded. As Harry and Hermione passed the Abbotts, they greeted them.

"Hello again," Harry said in a friendly tone. "How've you been?"

"We've been fine, Harry," John replied. "Our granddaughter keeps us up to date on your goings on. And, of course, we saw your outstanding victory over Slytherin in November." John said, slapping him on the back jovially. Harry noticed the two unfamiliar women frowning at John's mention of his quidditch victory.

"Has Neville been by your place yet?" Harry asked.

"Oh yes," John replied. "That was a bit of a shock, but I suppose Marina's getting to be that age. Speaking of, I've heard you two are an item now."

"That's right," Harry said, smiling. "I couldn't be happier."

"Good lad," John replied. They all sat.

"Now," Lord Henry said, stealing focus. "Harry, Hermione, I'd like to introduce you to the rest of the Potters. "This is Fleamont's younger brother, Charlus and his wife Dorea. Their son is Simon." After Lord Henry had cast the _Fidelius_ in June, Harry—the secret keeper—had written out a short blurb that revealed the secret, so that the rest of the family could be filled in despite Harry's absence. Harry had been anticipating meeting them, and it appeared that the time for that had come.

"It's nice to meet you," Harry and Hermione said in unison. They glanced at each other momentarily before Hermione continued. "How old are you, Simon?"

"Eight," Simon replied. Harry thought it was almost as though he were looking in a mirror of his younger self, if only he looked just a tad more like Sirius Black.

"You're practically old enough to start Hogwarts," Hermione observed with a smile.

"And this is Violetta Black, Dorea's mother," Lord Henry finished. She was a fairly tall woman, even sitting. Harry couldn't help but think she looked a bit like an older, prettier Millicent Bulstrode.

"A pleasure to meet you," Harry said. Hermione nodded. Violetta nodded in reply.

"Now that we've all been introduced," Lord Henry said casually, looking at Harry. "Perhaps you'd care to explain why the Lord Black happened to stop by on Monday for a chat?" All eyes were immediately on Harry, mostly questioningly.

"I can't say for certain," Harry replied, wondering just what had happened.

"Perhaps I can illuminate some things," Lord Henry offered. "Violetta was kind enough to escort the Lord Black here around tea time. We were sat right here, and he said that he needed to apologize to the head of our house as the head of his house for a certain incident. I had to tell him that I had no idea what he was talking about, but would be happy to discuss it with him. He told me if I didn't know then House Potter was indeed honourable, and that I should ask you about it, as it wasn't his place to say, though he did give the permission of House Black to discuss it. Would you care to refresh my memory as to which incident he was referring?"

"You might want to pull out the pensieve for this one," Harry sighed, looking at Lord Henry's feet nervously. "It's easier to see it than for me to explain it." Lord Henry nodded.

"Sam!" he called. The elf popped in. "Bring the pensieve, please, Sam." The elf nodded and popped away, returning a moment later holding the pensieve. He placed it on the coffee table and looked at Lord Henry. "Thank you, Sam. That's all." Then Lord Henry nodded to Harry.

Harry teased the memory of the incident from his temple, dropping it from his wand tip into the stone bowl. The memory swirled around at the bottom of the basin. Harry returned to his seat, and Hermione took his hand. Lord Henry had instructed Harry to leave the Blacks and other important dark families alone. While it wasn't his choice to be approached by Alphard Black, he could've simply run after the first spells were cast. Instead, he'd fought back and defeated Black. He hoped Lord Henry would look favourably on his actions.

The adults all stepped forward, and one by one dipped into the memory until only Simon was left. He looked like he wanted to go too, but couldn't. He was too young and had no wand. The three sat in silence, with Hermione holding Harry's hand. She'd decided that, already knowing what happened, it was more important to support Harry, who was obviously nervous. Simon studied Harry and Hermione carefully for several minutes before wandering over to a painting to look at it closely.

Ten minutes passed before the adults reappeared around the pensieve. Harry looked up to see a beaming Lord Henry. The other adults seemed pleased and impressed. It was as if a weight lifted and Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Harry, that was quite…" Lord Henry paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. "One of the most diplomatic… bravest… Well, it took a lot of courage and a lot of quick thinking to pull of what you did. You seem to have neutralized part of the dark faction, and done a proper job of it. You should be quite proud of your actions. They were firm and fair. You didn't get angry, and were magnanimous in victory. You seemed to understand the power dynamic as well."

"Oh," Harry muttered, confused.

"How sure were you that you'd pull that off?" Lord Henry asked, seeing Harry shifting in his seat.

"Not at all," Harry replied. "I mean, I didn't do it because I knew it would work, but I didn't think it would be good for the Potters to get into a widening war over something stupid like Mulciber and Rosier did. I hoped Black and Ross would see it the way I did, and I suppose they did."

"I think your choice of words and actions helped in that regard," said John Abbott, joining the conversation.

"They did," Violetta informed them. "Apparently, when my brother Pollux saw the memory, he wanted to go to war with the Potters. (He's always been the darkest of the Blacks.) When he took it to Lord Sirius, he was disappointed, though. Where Pollux saw an opportunity for a blood war in the offing, Lord Sirius saw how you'd handled a difficult situation, and used diplomacy to diffuse further violence. He saw you were trying to save face for his family."

"What?" Harry asked, confused.

"The Potters have been involved in the mess with the Mulcibers and Rosiers since the beginning," Flea explained. "It doesn't hurt us much to get more involved. It would hurt the Blacks to become involved. The Mulcibers and Rosiers are not ancient or noble families. They both came to Britain during the conquest, and became magical about five hundred years ago. For the Blacks to follow the Mulcibers or Rosiers would be for a noble house to become subservient to a non-noble house, which would decrease the Blacks' standing and cause them to lose face, especially if they lost."

"Lord Sirius contacted me after he'd seen the pensieve memory supplied by his grandnephew," Violleta continued. "Apparently, your skill impressed him and, coupled with the root cause of the conflict, convinced him this wasn't an affair he wanted the Blacks involved with. He asked me to set up a meeting with Lord Henry."

"You did quite a good job explaining everything," Lady Winifred added. "You'll make a great politician and diplomat."

"Maybe I'll abdicate headship responsibilities when they get passed to me if favour of you," Flea joked next to Harry, slapping him on the back.

"If he keeps this up, I might insist on it," Lord Henry said with a wry smile. He pulled out his pocket watch and looked at it. "I do believe it's time for supper. Shall we adjourn to the dining room?"

ooOOOOoo

Harry rolled over, and snapped his eyes open. It was Christmas; the first Christmas he'd spent in the past. It was also the first Christmas he'd had a girlfriend. He smiled. The clock read half seven. He sat up, pushing the covers off, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

In order to avoid questions, he'd taken to wearing pyjamas. His parents had bought him some last summer, but he protested that he slept in his underwear. They gave him a knowing look and bought them anyway. The first night in the dorms, the guys had looked at him funny when he got into bed in his underwear. The next night, he decided to wear pyjamas. There were no funny looks that night. He looked down at the Stuart tartan flannel pyjamas he had on, then sighed, and looked at his wardrobe. It appeared that pyjamas had become a habit for him.

The door burst open and Hermione appeared, also clad in pyjamas, though hers were blue silk with stylish oriental decoration.

"Happy Christmas!" she called, jumping onto her bed with her feet tucked under her. She kissed him quickly, before bouncing back. "Are you going to get up for presents, or are we going to have to start without you?" She was very excited.

"Happy Christmas, to you too, 'Mione," Harry grinned. "But should you really be bursting into my room? I mean, what if I'd been changing?"

"I was kinda hoping you were," she grinned back, winking. "Uncle Flea and Aunt Mia are waiting downstairs. They're not dressed properly either, so come on!" She reached for his hand and pulled him up. His feet fell into the slippers on the floor, and he quickly ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair as Hermione drug him from the room.

In the family room, the Christmas tree stood tall and proud, decorated with faery lights, delicate glass balls, popcorn strands, and dried fruit. It was lightly dusted with snow charmed not to melt. Around it were four giant piles of presents. Flea and Mia sat on the couch opposite the tree, smiling at the two teens as they entered.

"Happy Christmas!" they said together.

"I see you finally dragged sleeping beauty out of bed," Mia said laughingly.

"Eventually," Hermione sighed, affecting exhaustion.

"Alright," Harry huffed, trying to change the subject. "Who plays Father Christmas?"

"I think the last one up should," Flea said with a smile. "Go ahead." He gestured at the stacks.

"Fine," Harry fake sighed, and reached for the first gift he could get. It was for Mia. He handed it over, and reached for the next one. Mia had torn into her present before he could get the next one delivered. She pulled out a new dress and beamed.

The piles slowly dwindled as Harry passed out the presents. He tried to distribute gifts from friends first, then extended family, then family members in the room, and lastly from himself. By the time Harry got to gifts he'd bought, he had a massive haul. He had practically a whole new wardrobe, the beginnings of a respectable library, a complete set of new quidditch armour, and enough sweets to open his own shop.

Harry handed Mia his last gift to her. She saw it was from him and thanked him warmly. She pulled out a pendant necklace, much like the one he'd given Hermione. It was platinum decorated with emeralds. She gasped as she pulled it out.

"Harry, this is gorgeous," Mia said. "I love it."

"Dad said you were born in May, so I gave you one with emeralds," Harry told her.

"You're so thoughtful," Mia complemented him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Harry said, passing over Flea's final gift. Flea tore off the colourful paper and opened a similar box. He sat stunned, unable to even move for a minute as he looked into the box.

"What is it, Flea?" Mia asked, glancing over. In the soft cotton bed she saw a gold pocketwatch. The Potter crest was engraved on the lid. Flea finally carefully pulled the watch out of the box, unable to believe what he was seeing. He opened the lid and saw the engraving. Harry grinned, knowing what it said.

_FHP_

_November 6, 1917._

"Where did you find this?" Flea asked in wonder, showing Mia the engraving.

"Hogwarts," Harry replied with a grin. "I figured it what yours when I saw the inscription."

"This was my birthday watch for my seventeenth birthday," Flea said. "I lost it at Hogwarts right before I graduated. I never knew where it went."

"I found it in a large room in Hogwarts full of other lost things," Harry informed him. He didn't say that's where he found all his best gifts, but he thought Hermione would figure that out shortly.

"I can't say how much this means to me," Flea said seriously. His eyes were a little red and puffy. Harry nodded, not wanting to make the man feel worse.

"It was nothing," Harry said before passing Hermione the last gift under the tree. "Here 'Mione. This is for you."

She smiled at Harry and opened it. For Hermione, he'd bastardized several pieces of jewellery. He'd identified a Granger crest on an earring, several suitable chains, and other odds and ends, and convinced Marina to help him create a suitable necklace for Hermione from the various bits using magic. He'd actually had to look up how to do it, using Neville as cover under a ruse he needed help with Defence.

The end result was a piece consisting of five nested gold chains of increasing length and size (the smallest was a 14 inch choker, while the largest was a twenty inch princess). They were connected at the front with a thin gold bar encrusted with diamonds from which the pendant with the Granger crest was hanging. It was a marvellous piece, and Hermione was speechless as she lifted the creation free of the box. She marvelled at it for several minutes before she simply said, "Put it on me." She handed it off to Harry and turned around, lifting her hair from her neck.

Harry obliged. He knew he'd done a good job. None of the other pieces he'd given her had elicited this sort of response. All his hard work had paid off.

"It's gorgeous," Mia gushed, when Hermione turned around. It actually went very well with the pyjamas she was wearing in Harry's opinion. Even Flea smiled and nodded.

"I love it," Hermione said, hugging Harry tightly. Then she leaned close to his ear and whispered, "I'll thank you properly later." She pulled back, giving him a quick kiss as she went.

Harry, exhausted from the morning, pulled her down on the couch next to Flea and Mia and the four of them simply sat and enjoyed the quiet morning. Eventually, Flea's stomach rumbled and Mia chuckled.

"I guess that's someone telling me it's time for breakfast," she joked.

ooOOOOoo

That night, Harry was lying in bed, thinking about what had been the best Christmas of his life. He was just about to fall asleep when the door clicked open. In the moonlight he could barely make out Hermione turning from where she was shutting the door.

"'Mione," Harry said quietly, sitting up. "What's wrong?" She merely shushed him as she approached his bed. Without a word, she pulled back the covers and climbed in next to him.

"I just wanted to give you your last present," she whispered to him.

"Did you forget?" he asked, confused. She giggled softly.

"No silly," she replied. Then she started moving around under the covers. Harry didn't know what to make of it until she popped her head up again. In her hand she had her pyjama top.

"Are you starkers under there?!" Harry gasped.

"Not quite," Hermione replied. "My trousers and knickers are still on… and they're staying that way. Got it?" Her last sentence was quite forcefully said.

"Yes," Harry replied, gulping.

"Good," Hermione said. "Now take off your shirt and come over here and kiss me."

ooOOOOoo

Boxing Day dawned and Harry could hear the rain and wind pounding against the side of the house. He was also alone in his bed. Neither of those things could dampen his spirits, though. He had nine days before he had to return to school, he and Hermione were going over to Neville's that day, and Hermione said that she'd be returning to his bed for a repeat of the night before.

This excited Harry quite a bit. He'd discovered that he loved breasts, and Hermione's in particular. Everything about them was captivating: their shape, their feel, their taste, the way Hermione moaned when he kissed them. He was quite eager to discover more about them soon.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11—Dying to Live**

Albus Dumbledore bore a heavy burden. His life had not been easy, and at sixty-four, he still had plenty of life to left. His struggles had generally resulted in victories, though sometimes costly ones. They had also propelled him to great heights within his world, granting him influence beyond his years and station. He knew that it was his victory over Grindelwald that gave him the Chief Warlock seat. He also knew that he'd been the choice of the light faction for the headmaster position. There was also talk of him representing Britain at the ICW, and perhaps even the Supreme Mugwumpship.

All these thoughts were on his mind as he sloshed down a drenched county lane outside Little Hangleton one day in very late December. Cold rain fell in sheets, and a wintry wind pushed the drops under Dumbledore's umbrella. Soon, he reached the turn-off he was looking for and proceeded up a dirt path into the woods. The wind was gentler here, though the bare tree branches did little to stop the rain.

Presently, Dumbledore came up his destination: the Gaunt House. In truth, it was little more than a shack. Though occupied as recently as four years ago, it had fallen into disrepair. He noticed several windowpanes that were broken or missing, one hole having been covered with wood planking. Most of the shutters had lost their paint, and two hung askew. The garden was overgrown, and the house was dark. He suddenly felt the urge to turn back. Instead, he stopped.

Dumbledore drew his wand from his cloak and waved it in a complicated pattern mumbling in Latin. Several layers of green formed a dome around the property. The door glowed blue, and the same blue glow showed through the windows. There were several wards around the house, and some curses on various objects baring his way.

To start, he vanished his umbrella and charmed his clothes and hair to repel rain. Then, using great care, he dismantled the wards around the house, starting with the repelling ward. When no green domes remained, he advanced to the door, and neutralized the curse placed upon it. When the door no longer glowed, he opened it, entering the house.

It was a single room, just as dilapidated as the outside. There were leaks in the roof, and water dripped in. In several places the plaster ceiling had collapsed onto the floor. Dumbledore peered through the gloom. A chair and several cupboards glowed blue as well. Painstakingly, he took down those curses as well, checking each location, but finding no ring. He paused upon finishing the last curse, thinking.

He began to pace, and soon hit a squeaky spot in the floor. Admitting the possibility that Tom had placed the curses as distractions and simply hidden the horcrux in a nook, Dumbledore bent over and pried up the floorboard. It came away easily, and a small box was nestled on the dirt beneath the wooden floor. He'd done it!

Without a thought, he grabbed for the box, opening it. A simple ring with a black stone lay on some cotton fluff. He noticed the symbol of the Deathly Hallows on the stone. It was the Resurrection Stone! He grasped the ring, admiring it for a moment, then slid it quickly onto his finger. In an instant, pain flashed through his finger. He gasped as the skin beneath the finger began turning black and withering. The ring had been cursed!

There wasn't a moment to spare. Dumbledore, still in pain, but not wanting to lose the ring, touched a portkey in his pocket, whisking him back to the front gate of Hogwarts. He pulled the ring from his finger as he ran for the door, thrusting the cursed item into another pocket. With his wand, he managed to cast a temporary stabilization charm as he moved.

In a minute he was pounding on an office door on the sixth floor. In a moment, the door was opened, revealing Horace Slughorn.

"Albus," Slughorn smiled jovially. Then it became a frown when he saw Dumbledore's expression. "What can I do for you?"

"Horace," Dumbledore replied, frightened. "I fear I've made a terrible mistake. I need your help."

ooOOOOoo

"I would ask that you please join me in my office tonight," Dumbledore said as he passed Harry and Hermione at lunch on January 2nd. His voice seemed detached, as though he were lost in thought. It was the first time Harry had seen the professor since returning to school the day before. Dumbledore barely stopped, and it took Harry a moment to realize that the man had spoken to them. Dumbledore glanced at them and Harry nodded.

"Are you in trouble?" Neville asked after Dumbledore had left.

"I don't think so," Harry pondered. "Damn, that's date night ruined." He looked forlornly at Hermione next to him, remembering what they'd planned.

"We'll just have to reschedule for tomorrow night," Hermione said with an impish grin.

"I love you," Harry said sincerely, smiling back.

"I love you too," Hermione agreed, kissing him quickly.

"So what's Dumbledore want to see you about?" John pressed.

"It could be any number of things," Harry reasoned. "I'm sure you'll find out shortly after Dumbledore lets me go."

ooOOOOoo

"You wanted to see me, Professor?" Harry asked upon opening the door, when Dumbledore called for him to enter.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, waving him in. "Ah, Miss Granger, lovely. Come in, come in." Harry closed the door after Hermione passed, and they both sat across the desk from Dumbledore. "I suppose you're wondering why I asked you to stop by?"

"Yes, professor," Hermione agreed. Harry nodded.

"I have several pieces of news that concern a subject of interest to you," Dumbledore replied. He hefted a bowl of hard candies. "Lemon drop?" The two teens shook their heads. "The Aurors have informed me that, with Mr. Burke's help, they've finally completed their inventory and recovery of dark and illegal artefacts that he either sold or had possession of. No further horcruxes were found during their investigation."

"That's good news," Harry observed.

"It is," Dumbledore agreed, nodding. "His trial is set to start next Monday. I shall be away from the castle that day to oversee it."

"You said that the Aurors found dark and illegal artefacts that he'd sold?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, smiling a bit. "It's caused quite the furore in the darker families, though it's been kept out of the press. The LeStrange family actually lost their seat on the Wizengamot because of it. Several other people have been arrested, and even more fined. It's been quite interesting. Thank you for kicking over the anthill that was Mr. Riddle."

"I take it there's more?" Harry said, noticing that there seemed to be something Dumbledore was hiding. Dumbledore merely nodded, sadly.

"As I promised, I visited the Gaunt House in Little Hangleton, and retrieved the last horcrux," he said, pulling the ring out and putting it on the desk. "I understand you have a way to destroy it." It wasn't a question, but Harry nodded. "Then I give it to you… but…" he cautioned, as he saw Harry reach for it, "under no circumstances should you put it on or wear it."

"Is it cursed?" Hermione asked, studying it on the desk.

"It was," Dumbledore sighed. He lifted his left hand above the desk for the first time. His entire middle finger was black and shrivelled and the two fingers next to it were a sickly slate grey. "When I found it, I put it on to admire the stone," he revealed. "That was a compulsion charm. It was paired with a withering curse. That curse activated when I put the ring on."

"But you've stopped it," Harry said. "Right?"

"Alas, no. There is no stopping this particular curse," Dumbledore told them. "It can only be slowed. Professor Slughorn provides me with a potion I take twice daily that significantly impedes the progress. I should have quite some time left."

"How long is 'quite some time,' sir?" Hermione asked.

"A year. Perhaps two. Enough to set my affairs well in order." Dumbledore gave them both warm smiles. Harry was shocked. Dumbledore was dying. Dumbledore couldn't die! He could see that Hermione was thinking thoughts along the same line. If Dumbledore died, he wouldn't ever be Headmaster of Hogwarts. He wouldn't be Supreme Mugwump of the ICW.

"You needn't worry," Dumbledore said at last, seeing their concern. "I've led a good life. I've done all I'd hoped to do, and more. Death is the last great adventure."

"I'll miss you," Harry said, eyes watering. Hermione looked at Harry, eyes also watering.

"Now, now," Dumbledore consoled. "I'll be alright. More importantly, you'll both be alright as well."

"But I've never known about the magical world and not had you in it!" Harry protested. Harry realized in the back of his mind that Dumbledore wouldn't know that. Harry had five years of history with Albus Dumbledore that this Albus Dumbledore didn't know, though in the broadest strokes he knew about it.

"And I'll be there for at least another year," Dumbledore replied calmly. "I have things I'd like to teach you."

"Why?" Hermione asked, sniffing at bit.

"You two have had quite a profound impact on my life," Dumbledore said simply. "I see a bit of me in you both. I suppose I think… you would value the knowledge I may be able to provide, more so than others."

"Thank you," Harry replied softly. "It would be an honour."

ooOOOOoo

That first Sunday evening set the tone for the rest of term. Harry and Hermione left Gryffindor tower and met Professor Dumbledore at Moaning Myrtle's loo. Harry opened the Chamber of Secrets. The first thing they did was destroy the horcrux with the basilisk fang. After a screech and a puff of smoke it gave up the ghost, and the last of Riddle's horcruxes was gone. Harry simply pocketed the defunct ring. Then, Dumbledore began instructing the two of them in more advanced magics. Little progress was made the first night, but Dumbledore said he saw promise in them, and continually encouraged them.

Every Sunday thereafter the trio would meet after supper and descend into the Chamber to train for several hours. Both Harry and Hermione improved. Going was slow at first, but as concepts about magical theory were explained in greater detail, both their work quickly improved, and the magic became easier quite quickly.

Each session started off with a lecture by Professor Dumbledore. This had the dual effect of describing what would be taught and allowing their meal to settle before beginning work. Then there was a taught practical where Dumbledore would walk the two teens through the wand movements and vocalizations (if any), and the thought process and application of magic in order to achieve what they were working on that night. Finally, there was a review period, where they would perform magic already learned, both reinforcing and improving prior knowledge and abilities.

At the end of their sessions, Professor Dumbledore would escort them back to Gryffindor tower, easily deflecting other teachers and prefects' questions about why they were out after curfew. It was not unusual for the sessions to begin just past seven and end around eleven, making his escort a necessity.

Their friends all knew that Harry and Hermione were getting extra instruction, and after explaining what sort of instruction it was, they politely stopped asking. Though it wasn't implicitly stated, it was implied that the private tuition wasn't something they'd sought, nor would it be likely that others could join in. Being that they were explaining this to Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, none of the others were that enthusiastic about extra lessons anyway.

ooOOOOoo

March 6, 1948 was sunny and far warmer than usual. Harry trailed the team down to the pitch for the match against Hufflepuff. Hermione walked with him, holding his hand and simply taking in the pleasant weather of an early spring.

"Ready Harry?" George Wood asked. Harry grinned and nodded, clutching his Cleansweep tighter. Despite only having one game under their belts, the team had really bonded. Initially it had been good. Now it was better than the team he'd left back in 1996.

Harry parted from Hermione at the entrance to the locker rooms. He changed quickly, and gave his broom one last once over. The rest of the team finished preparing and headed for the exit. Harry walked behind in silence, running over what he knew of the opposing team: good, not great; uninspired seeker. They'd beaten Ravenclaw in November, but then Ravenclaw was fielding a terrible team this year.

As the rest of the team was announced, Harry mounted his broom. An instant later he was soaring into the pitch. The warm air felt good. Winter had been unusually hard and unusually early this last year. He watched as the captains shook hands, and glanced over at the seventh-year girl who was the Hufflepuff seeker. She glanced back, a worried look on her face. She should have, Harry thought. Aside from her uninspired play, she was loping along on a Comet 140, a nearly twenty-year-old design.

The balls were released and Harry again pursued the snitch with a passion. Unfortunately, the Hufflepuff beaters were on their games today, and managed to divert Harry's attention with a well-placed shot. When he pulled out of a snap roll he'd started to dodge the ball, he'd lost the snitch. He cursed under his breath and started a search in the general direction the snitch had been travelling.

The Hufflepuff seeker followed gamely along behind, pacing him, but hanging back far enough that she wasn't being a nuisance. Harry didn't mind. He'd dealt with seekers who'd tailed him before, and he knew that if they were watching him, they weren't looking for the snitch. Harry ignored the girl, and continued his search.

Below, the game progressed. The Hufflepuff beaters were nearly a match for Gryffindor's, but the Gryffindor chaser line was head and shoulders above the Puffs. It was only through the skill of their keeper, another seventh year, that Gryffindor wasn't absolutely demolishing them. Still, after thirty minutes of play the score stood at eighty to ten in favour of the Lions.

At the forty minute mark, Harry was circling slowly over the Hufflepuff goals. He glanced back at the Hufflepuff seeker—who was still trailing him—and noticed a flash of gold behind her. Not wanting to alert her to the bounty behind her, he slowly stopped and turned his broom towards her.

"Long game, eh?" he asked as he approached her. He kept an eye on the snitch using his peripheral vision. The golden ball was hovering lazily perhaps a two yards behind her. It was close enough that she wouldn't look there, and far enough that she couldn't hear it, especially with the sounds from the stands.

"Longer than your last game," the girl replied with a smirk.

"Yeah, well I got lucky that time," Harry grinned back, continuing the conversation. The snitch remained in position, hovering, heedless to his approach. His broom slowly passed the girl, and her eyes left him and gave the pitch a quick scan. Her attention diverted, Harry sprinted forward the two yards and snagged the snitch with little effort. His quick movement got the Hufflepuff's attention. "Guess I got lucky again," he said offhandedly, showing her the snitch.

"Son of a…" she cursed. "It was behind me the whole time?! Merlin! I'm pants at this." Below, the announcer realized that the snitch had been caught, and announced the final score of two hundred fifty to ten. She seemed more angry at herself than sad that they'd lost, almost as if she'd been expecting it.

"It wasn't behind you the whole time," Harry consoled. "I only just noticed it myself, which was why I turned around. You're hardly pants at quidditch, but I'd recommend a new strategy for seeking. I've never seen a seeker who trailed the other team's seeker come away with the snitch. You didn't do that against Ravenclaw."

"Yeah," she said as they both descended to the pitch, "but Ravenclaw's seeker is worse than I am. I figured that I'd just strike out on my own, and I'd have a better chance at it. I swear, that Ravenclaw is practically blind."

"It's good that you vary your play," Harry observed. "But shadowing the other seeker should never be one of your tactics. It's okay to interrupt their tactics, or trick them into doing something foolish, but you should have more confidence in yourself. I know Ravenclaw stinks, but you're still one and one. Try to make that two and one against Slytherin." He grinned at her as they landed.

"I plan on it," she said as she smiled back and dismounted. "Thanks for the tips."

"No problem," he replied. "I'm not playing you again anyway, so it doesn't hurt to spread the wealth." The girl nodded and walked over to where the other Hufflepuff players were being surrounded by their team.

"Should I be worried?" a voice behind him asked as Harry watched the girl be consoled by her teammates. Harry turned and saw Hermione grinning at him.

"Nah," he replied easily, wrapping her up in a hug. "I was just giving her some friendly advice for their game with Slytherin. She wants to win that game."

"Always a worthy goal," Hermione agreed. While she was still in his arms, George walked up and plucked the snitch from his hand.

"Snog your bird and let's go Harry!" he nearly shouted. "We've got a victory party to attend!" Then George gave a whoop and ran off with the rest of the team for Gryffindor tower. Harry sighed dramatically at the crassness of George's instructions, but complied with them anyway.

ooOOOOoo

Harry slid the compartment door closed and sank into the seat. April 3rd marked the beginning of Easter break, and the usual suspects were occupying the first compartment on the third coach of the Express. Harry was exhausted and looking forward to a break.

The night before Harry and Hermione had had date night, as usual. What was unusual was that they hadn't gotten back to Gryffindor tower until far after curfew. It was nearly one thirty when Harry finally dropped into bed.

Still, Harry sported a massive smile on his face. Since he retained his invisibility cloak, sneaking about the castle after curfew was far less hazardous than it would've been otherwise, and the exhaustion was more than worth what had happened on the date. While the teens hadn't gone 'all the way' yet, what they had done was far and above what had happened when Hermione had crawled into his bed over Christmas break.

As he thought about it, though, he realized that the break would make it far easier for such… trysts to occur, at least for the next week. He wondered if he'd ever get a good night's sleep. Sure… when the Express returned him to Hogwarts on the 11th. Still, the smile never left his face.

"Date night went well?" John asked slyly.

"A gentleman never kisses and tells," Harry replied tiredly, punctuating the end with a yawn. Hermione yawned automatically.

"It must've gone _very _well, then," John said, grinning and glancing at Kathleen.

"Bugger off," Hermione said in a grouchy voice. "Why don't you lot go off and have a _very _good date night yourselves?"

"Who said we didn't?" John asked coyly. "We just don't have one of those fancy invisibility cloaks like your lad does so we have to be in bed on time."

"I don't know about you, mate," Neville interjected, but I don't think a broom cupboard makes a _very_ good date."

"Shut it, Nev," John shot back playfully. "I don't see you slipping off with Marina. You're not neglecting her, are you?"

"He pays me the proper amount of attention, thank you," Marina said, rolling her eyes. Then she smiled broadly. "And just because you don't see him slipping off with me doesn't mean he doesn't. He's practically Slytherin about it."

"Fine," huffed John. "Everyone has very good dates. Every girl gets paid the proper amount of attention. I'm sorry I brought it up."

"Keep your voice down," Kathleen whispered quietly. John, Neville, and Marina looked over and saw Harry asleep against the bulkhead with Hermione snoring softly against him.

ooOOOOoo

Monday saw Harry and Hermione accompany Flea to work. It was their first visit to the Department of Mysteries since summer. They were again ushered into the conference room. This time, they were joined by Flea and Sam Abbott, Harry's supposed 'uncle'. Both Unspeakables had their hoods down.

"This is just a friendly debrief almost a year on," Flea began. "Do either of you have any lingering questions?"

"I'm still a little concerned about time paradoxes," Hermione said, looking at Flea.

"Care to explain?" Sam asked.

"Well, when I used time turners in third year, I couldn't change the past," she elaborated. "It was physically impossible. Everything that happened, happened just like it did the first time, because two of me were there the first time."

"When I rescued myself and my godfather from the dementors I knew I could do it, because I'd watched myself do it already," Harry said thoughtfully. "I mean, the first time I saw it I thought it was my dad doing it, but once I was on the other side of things, I realized quite quickly the truth of the matter."

"Exactly," Hermione agreed. "When we went back in time with the time turners we couldn't change anything, even if we really wanted to, either because we didn't know what would happen, or we had no other logical option at the time." She looked at her hands as she thought for a moment and the room lapsed into silence.

"This time it's different," she continued. "This time Harry's slain the basilisk twice. He's killed Tom before…"

"What?" Sam asked quickly, looking at Harry. Hermione suddenly looked afraid.

"Harry killed Tom Riddle over the summer," Flea told Sam. "It was either him or… well, you know what would happen."

"Yeah," Sam nodded, then turned back to Hermione. "Go on."

"Harry's killed Tom before he could declare war on Magical Britain," Hermione said at last. "Dippet's not the headmaster anymore, Binns is, and Dumbledore never will be. How is that possible? And what does it mean for the future?"

"It's possible because of magic," Flea replied. "Time turners do one thing, which is send people back in time up to five hours. The time bell… we were using to research the principles of time. We hadn't even considered combining the two, and now we can't."

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"Because the time bell is destroyed," Sam said with a shrug. "We could recreate it, but we probably won't. It's been labelled as especially dangerous magic since you blew it up. We've started making time turners again, but production is slow. We only have two done."

"You never answered my question," Hermione pointed out.

"Time turners work by sending people back along a single time stream," Sam said simply. "It's the one you've already travelled before, and therefore any changes you make the second time around will be experienced on the first time through. Based on actions you both were able to take over the past nine months, we believe that we're experiencing something new."

"Ok," Hermione prodded.

"Remember the last time you were here, we discussed what you called the multiverse theory? Where before—and with all time-turner use—there was only one time stream, we believe your actions last June not only threw you back in time, but created a new, different, time stream. A new universe was formed at the exact instant you appeared in 1947. Instead of a line—or perhaps a straight road, if you will—we now have a road with a fork in it."

"And I… I took the road less travelled by," Hermione murmured softly.

"And that has made all the difference," Flea finished, smiling at her. "You know Robert Frost?"

"I'm surprised you do," Hermione replied. "I grew up as a muggle, but you didn't."

"I enjoy learning about many things," Flea revealed. "Now… does our explanation suit you?"

"As well as it can," Hermione said after considering it. "There's no way we are on the same path we were familiar with in 1996."

"No," Sam agreed. "And I don't think you need to worry about temporal anomalies, either. Again, the multiverse takes care of that. Now that we're nine months on, we're practically certain that's what happened."

"I suppose that's a good thing," Hermione agreed.

Harry had let the entire conversation wash over him. He understood most of it, but he wanted to think about it some more. He was happy that Hermione was at peace with what had happened. Harry figured that of the three of them, she was the most adversely effected by the time shift. Still, at least she had memories of her parents. Harry and Neville had few, if any.

After answering Hermione's question about time paradoxes, the two Unspeakables began the debriefing in earnest. What Harry, Hermione, and Neville had gone through earlier was merely a teaser for what they went through this time.

Harry contributed what he could, but he spent most of his time listening to Hermione run through British and World history between 1948 and 1996. Either Flea or Sam would ask a question, and Hermione would start talking. It seemed like nothing was off-limits. She answered questions about politics, war, finances, law, technology, society, art, music, the environment, and anything else they could think of. Often, her answers would spawn the next question—one they hadn't even thought to ask before.

In the afternoon, the pensieve was hauled out and Flea and Sam (and Harry) enjoyed watching Jurassic Park, listening to Elton John, and visiting museums. They watched her father shop for a new car: a 1994 Jaguar X300, her mother buy groceries, and general life around the Granger home and neighbourhood.

For later viewing Hermione provided pensieve memories that were literal tours of the National Gallery, the British Museum, the Museum of London, the Natural History Museum, the Science Museum, the Victoria and Albert, the Tate Modern, and about a dozen other museums from the mid-1990s. She provided memories of almost a hundred movies, dozens of shows from the telly, hours and hours of music—both live and recorded, and even books.

Finally, around supper time Flea took them home. It had been a long day, though it had been fun. It was more exhausting for Hermione than anyone else. Harry had rather enjoyed himself. It was quite interesting seeing what he'd missed out on living with the Dursleys after all this time.

ooOOOOoo

That night Harry was laying in bed looking out the window at the stars when the door creaked open. This was no longer unusual. Hermione had joined him every night since they'd returned home. She slipped into the bed as he rolled over, wrapping her in his arms, and kissing her gently. Hermione returned the kiss and put her hands on Harry's backside, giving a firm squeeze. He responded by deepening the kiss.

Things progressed fairly quickly and ten minutes later they were both sans clothing under the covers. Harry was kissing her and cupping her breast with his left hand when she pulled back. Harry kissed her nose playfully, but then withdrew his hand when he realized that she wasn't playing.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, slightly worried.

"I don't know," Hermione replied.

"Did I do something wrong?" Now he was truly concerned.

"No! No. Not at all." Hermione shifted, rolling onto her back.

"What is it?" Harry relaxed a bit when he realized that he wasn't the direct cause of her discomfort.

"Do you remember what it felt like last June?" Hermione asked carefully. "When we just realized that we'd left all our friends, save Neville, behind and would never see them again?"

"Yes." Harry nodded in the dark.

"We became very close after that," Hermione stated. "It's almost as if we were clinging to what we'd lost. It was hard not to. I mean, we live together now. We're legally family. Of course, it was natural that we'd gravitate to each other. Then I wondered if that closeness was misinterpreted by our friends as romantic interest."

"'Mione…"

"Then we 'realized' after hearing them say it, that we did indeed fancy each other, both misinterpreting our own feelings…"

"'Mione, stop," Harry said, reaching out an arm to calm her.

"I just… I can see where this is heading, and I want to be absolutely sure that I love you, Harry, my friend, and not Harry, the manifestation of what I left behind."

"What are you saying?" Now Harry was worried again.

"When I lose my virginity, I want it to be with the man I love," Hermione said firmly. "I don't want it to be a mistake that I might live to regret."

"'Mione," Harry said, attempting to remain calm, his own mind roiling with emotion. "We don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with. I'm going at your pace. I don't have a schedule that says 'April 11th: take 'Mione's virginity.'" He pulled closer, but refrained from touching her.

"I remember meeting a bossy little girl on a train almost seven years ago," he said, smiling. "I remember her being helpful, even if she couldn't articulate herself very well. I remember her being sad at not being able to make friends. Then, I remember her being so happy when I wanted to be her friend. I remember her selfless assistance at every turn. She even got herself petrified for me once. She has a huge heart. She cares about creatures and other people equally, regardless of magical capability. She is given loads more responsibility than I ever have been, and has never once abused the trust of others.

"I remember that girl standing beside me when no one else would," Harry continued, reaching out a hand at last, and caressing her arm. "I remember her being pilloried in the press for her stand. I remember how beautiful she looked at the Yule Ball, and when she realized that the rest of the world thought she was beautiful too. I also remember every time she went into harm's way with me, unwilling to let me go alone." He stared directly into her eyes, shining in the darkness.

"I fell in love with that girl," he said gently. "I fell in love with Hermione Granger, my best friend in the whole world. If you need time to sort out your feelings, I'll give you all the time you need. My feelings are not in doubt. Just know that I love you for you, and not because I'm pining for some future now gone, and you're all that remains of it.

"I will leave you with one thought, though… If you really see me as a representation of what you've left behind, why me? Why not Neville? Logically, Neville was the safer option if you were really living out a desire to recapture our old future. I was your friend before, and could've remained that. You could've pursued Neville without worrying about destroying a deep and fulfilling friendship—one that I cherish, by the way. There must've been something beyond merely clinging to the past future that drew us together. I think that proves your love for me is for me, and not what might've been."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said at last. Even in the dark, Harry could see the moisture shining in her eyes. "It's just that, I've had these thoughts in the back of my mind for a while, and going to the Department of Mysteries today just…"

"Brought every painful irrational thought to the forefront of your mind?" Harry finished. Hermione nodded.

"I still want to think all this through for myself," she said, putting her hand on Harry's arm. "I want to be doubly sure that that's the way I feel, and not some trick I'm playing on myself. But I don't doubt your feelings. This is all on me. It's all in my head."

"Like I said," Harry said warmly, "take all the time you need."

"Thanks," she said. Then she turned in the bed and snuggled in close, spooning up to him. She pulled his arm down around her stomach and sighed contentedly.

ooOOOOoo

That week passed too quickly in Harry's opinion. He and Hermione spent their time reading, shopping, and seeing sights all over Britain. Every night she crept into his bed, and they'd talk and kiss and snuggle. Sometimes clothes stayed on, and other times things became more heated. Harry never pressured her, though, and she never went beyond what they'd done before.

He could tell that she was still working through her insecurities, and reasoned that the best thing he could do was show her his love. He tried his hardest, and thought he'd succeeded admirably. He vowed not to let up when they returned to school.

"Good break?" John asked as he and Kathleen entered the compartment Harry and Hermione had secured.

"Quite relaxing," Hermione replied as the couple sat down. "Yours?"

"Smashing," John said with a smile.

"What'd you do?" Harry asked.

"Southern France, mate," John replied.

"Did you go?" Hermione asked Kathleen. She nodded, blushing.

"She wore a bikini to the beach!" John said in a stage whisper.

"John!" Kathleen cried, scandalized.

"Oh come on," John said. "They're our friends. It's not like I told them…"

"John…" she growled dangerously.

"You'd best stop now, John," Harry said. "While Kathleen will still talk to you."

"Sorry, Kat," John said contritely. The door opened, revealing Neville and Marina.

"You look far more awake than the last time I saw you two," Neville said by way of greeting. "The holiday must've been good for you."

"It was," Harry agreed. "Very relaxing."

"Go anywhere fun?" Marina asked.

"Did some local sightseeing," Harry replied. "Dover, Portsmouth, Edinburgh, Orkney, Conwy…"

"Sounds like you enjoyed yourselves," Marina said.

"How about you lot?" Neville asked John.

"He's not allowed to talk about it," Harry cut in before John could say anything. "But I'm sure Kathleen would be happy to tell you about their trip."

"Kathy?" Marina asked, concerned.

"We went to the Azure Coast, near Marseilles," Kathleen replied in a friendly manner. "It was very nice. We spent most of the days on the beach. Unfortunately, this barmy git decided to go and be indiscreet about some of our more personal memories before you arrived. Hence the talking ban." John nodded solemnly.

"Ah," Neville said, understanding. "Well, never fear, our personal memories will remain that."

"So you two made some personal memories over the holiday?" Kathleen asked, grinning. "I'll have to ask Marina for the details later."

"Drat," Hermione sulked. "I always miss the good talk. Why couldn't you lot be in Gryffindor too?"

"Why couldn't you be in Hufflepuff?" Marina shot back. "Then you could share your 'personal memories' with us."

"Who said we made any 'personal memories' over the holidays?" Hermione rebuffed, smiling coyly.

"I bet you did," Kathleen said, grinning. Then she shook her head. "It's always the brainy ones."

"Apparently, it's everyone," Hermione said, sulkily.

They fell quiet as the train whistle sounded and the car lurched forward.

ooOOOOoo

"Are you alright, Harry?" Neville asked. They were studying in a corner of the common room. Hermione was off in the library, looking for a book on human to animal transfiguration. Harry sighed and put his textbook down.

"Yeah," he replied. "I was just thinking about something Hermione said over the holiday. This chapter reminded me of it."

"What?" Neville pressed. Between his own relationship with Marina and his new wand, Neville had really opened up, and become more confident and social.

"Well, Hermione's worried that she only loves me because she's clinging to a future now gone."

"That's bollocks," Neville said firmly. "She loves you. I've seen it."

"Well, I know how I feel, but I can see why she might be worried," Harry sighed. "I mean, look at my birthday gift… I gave her music from the future."

"No, you listened to her and gave her music she enjoyed. Music that she never would've been able to enjoy again if it weren't for you," Neville said.

"But that's just it! I reconnect her with her past," Harry pointed out.

"No, that's not it," Neville said heatedly. "I could've gotten her a music box too, but I wouldn't've been able to fill it with her favourite songs. My gift would be far less thoughtful because it wouldn't be something she'd enjoy as much. You listen to her. You hear her, and you act on what she says. You put her thoughts, feelings, and emotions before your own. If you didn't, you wouldn't be worried about this. Were you worried about it before she said something?"

"No," Harry agreed.

"Of course not!" Neville stated. "I'm from the future, but that doesn't mean I want to be with Hermione. We'd be terrible together. I'm far too submissive and she's far too bossy. Sorry."

"I would've agreed that both those things used to be true," Harry said. "Even as recently as last June, but I think this has changed all of us a little."

"My point is, Marina wants to be with me, regardless of the fact that she hasn't known me as long as most of the other people we're friends with," Neville continued. "She's not trying to hold to some future that will never be, and neither is Hermione. Hermione just needs to realize that."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, feeling somewhat better. "I wish I could help her with her problem, though."

"Sometimes we need to work through these things on our own," Neville said. "I know I did."

"D'you ever think about the guy Marina would've married if you hadn't come along?" Harry asked. "I mean, she existed in our old timeline, and probably married someone else. What happens to the kids they won't have now?"

"Hold on a bit, Harry," Neville replied. "Nobody said anything about marriage… yet. We're nowhere near that."

"But have you thought about it?"

"I try not to," Neville sighed.

"Why?"

"Because I know who she ended up with in the other timeline," Neville revealed.

"Who?" Neville looked around before leaning in.

"James Green," he said.

"James from our dorm?" Harry clarified.

"Yeah," Neville nodded. "They were both killed in the early 1970s during the first war."

"How d'you know that?"

"Hannah told me last year," Neville said. "We spent a lot of time in the greenhouse and DA together. She told me lots about her family. They were killed because he's a half-blood and she wasn't. Apparently, he was married above his station, and she was married below hers."

"That's awful," Harry said.

"Yeah," Neville agreed.

A thought flashed through Harry's mind. Maybe Neville was dating Marina because he couldn't date Hannah. Harry again thought back to his conversation with Hermione. He didn't know what to think. He was smart enough to realize that pointing out that Neville and Marina's relationship might've been a stand-in for one he could've had with Hannah wasn't a good idea. He let the conversation die, and went back to studying.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12—Revelations**

May 22, 1948 was the last good day of spring that year, but Harry couldn't have known that unless, while back in the 1990s, he'd spent hours digging through old Met office records in the local library, which he hadn't.

Instead, he was revelling in the fine sunny weather, astride his broom on the quidditch pitch awaiting the start of the last quidditch match of the year: Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. Gryffindor was the clear favourite. They were practically assured the cup this year. Ravenclaw had lost to both Hufflepuff and Slytherin, while Slytherin had gone down to Hufflepuff just a fortnight before. Still, Harry wasn't going to take Ravenclaw sitting down, well except on a broom, of course.

When the balls were released, Harry shot forward like a lightning bolt. Harry really missed his Firebolt at times like this. He liked his Cleansweep 4, but it lacked the sheer speed of the Firebolt. It was something he hoped to tinker with in his off time after finishing school. He sometimes dreamed of introducing the Firebolt decades ahead of schedule.

En route to the snitch, he barrel rolled around the Ravenclaw chaser line heading down the field. Then he popped over a bludger, before pulling in behind the snitch as it made a mad dash down the field to the Ravenclaw goals. The Ravenclaw seeker, a third year, was hot on his tail. Despite his poor seeking skills, he was a passable flier, and could largely follow Harry once Harry had seen the snitch.

The snitch abruptly changed directions, heading up and back towards the Gryffindor end of the pitch. Harry performed an Immemann Turn at speed, keeping his eyes fixed on the tiny golden orb. Suddenly Harry heard a crunch behind him, and turned to see an empty broom starting to fall from the sky, a tumbling young boy, and a bloody bludger zooming off into space.

Without a thought, Harry aborted his snitch pursuit and corkscrewed down after the Ravenclaw seeker. After passing through the Gryffindor chaser line, he reached the falling boy, wrapping him securely in his arms, and pulling slowly out of the dive. When he reached the grass he flew over to the Hospital Matron, a witch whose name he forgot, as he hadn't had the need to visit her yet. Without dismounting, he handed the boy over and zoomed back up to resume the search for the snitch.

The whole operation had taken perhaps five minutes since the start of the game, but Harry had lost sight of the little golden ball. Below, the Ravenclaw captain called a time out to try to figure out what had happened and how to proceed with the match. Harry remained at altitude, unconcerned with what was going on below. He continued to look for the snitch, but didn't find it by the time play resumed.

Being the smart lot that they were, Ravenclaw fielded a large reserve team, and the new seeker, a second year girl, rose up to join Harry in the search for the snitch. She didn't tail Harry. Instead, she took up position above and in front of the Ravenclaw goals and flew a figure eight pattern looking for the snitch.

By the time the Lions were up one hundred ten to twenty, Harry was bored. He flew over to the Ravenclaw seeker, just to see if the snitch was pacing her. It wasn't. Harry then wondered if the snitch was pacing any other players. He flew down into the scrim, and searched around. He got some odd looks from the Ravenclaws, but the Gryffindors didn't seem to mind.

After another five minutes, he actually caught a glimpse of gold near a Ravenclaw chaser, and flew at him. It scared the chaser, and he missed a pass as he ducked. Sheila recovered it and raced towards the Ravenclaw goals with the rest of the Lion's chaser line in hot pursuit. Harry, though, dove for the ground, spiralling down after the snitch. He bottomed out near the ground, streaking for the Gryffindor goals.

The snitch wove its way between the goal posts before flying at the stands. The crowd gasped as it looked as if Harry would collide with some of the spectators, but he hove left at the last moment, following the snitch. With the wooden wall of the stands a blur on his right, he poured on the speed, flattening against the broom as he accelerated towards the snitch. Sensing capture was imminent, it abandoned its usual dance and zipped off away from him. It wasn't fast enough, though, and Harry's hand finally closed around the tiny ball. Then he felt a sudden bump and slammed into the wall, and everything went dark.

ooOOOOoo

Harry blinked awake. His mouth tasted like cotton. He was in the hospital wing. In front of him, the windows were displaying a leaden sky over green trees. At least it was still spring, he snorted. Then he looked around. Hermione was dozing in a seat beside his bed. A little ways down the hall, there was another patient, but Harry couldn't see who it was. A Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff, both younger than he, were crowded around the bed.

"'Mione," he said, his voice low and raspy. He cleared his throat and Hermione blinked awake.

"Oh!" she cried, and enveloped him in a hug. "I'm so happy you're awake."

"What… happened?" he asked slowly, trying to get his bearings.

"The Ravenclaw seeker collided with you just after you caught the snitch," Hermione explained. "You both went into the wall. She broke her arm and her broom. You broke your leg, your arm, and a couple of ribs. Fortunately, Madam Wright put you right again." Harry snorted.

"The Matron?"

"Uh huh," Hermione said in agreement.

"How long have I been out?"

"It's Sunday morning, so… about eighteen hours," Hermione calculated. "Madam Wright says you should be able to be discharged soon."

"Awake eh?" the Matron called, moving towards them from the door at the back of the hospital wing. She bustled over. She was younger than Madam Pomfrey, but dressed much the same as she had. She had blonde hair, with a thin face and large eyes. As she approached, she pulled out her wand. Harry knew the drill. She waved the wand over him, casting diagnostic charms. If he relaxed, it would go faster. A minute later she lowered her wand. "Fit as a fiddle, Mr. Potter," she declared. "It's a few hours to lunch, so you should head back to Gryffindor tower, shower, and change. If you have any problems come back and see me."

"I will," Harry allowed. He slid out of bed, and picked up his things. He stepped behind a curtain to change, then accompanied Hermione back to the Gryffindor common room. "I suppose I missed the party." Hermione nodded. "What was the score?"

"Two hundred seventy to twenty," Hermione supplied. "You won us the quidditch cup. Congratulations." Harry just grinned and nodded in reply.

ooOOOOoo

"Good!" Dumbledore said with a smile. "Now pull the rock up from the ground, like this." He demonstrated, stretching a stone paver up into the room, forming a pillar.

Harry and Hermione were in the Chamber of Secrets for their last private lesson with Dumbledore before the end of term. They had one more week of school, mostly exams. While Harry had desperately needed a break from revision, and welcomed the lesson, Hermione was torn. On the one hand, this was time she might've better used studying for the tests. On the other hand, here she could learn advanced magics from the feet of a master. Harry had finally convinced her that she should come, pointing out that she'd included this lesson in their study schedules.

Harry raised his wand, focused his magic.

"_Obstructionum_!" He raised his wand, as though he were pulling the rock up, stretching it like taffy. The stone paver obeyed, rising slowly, clearly fighting Harry the whole way.

"Picture the stone in your mind," Dumbledore suggested. "See it rising from the floor, forming a column, and acting as your shield." Harry did, and the stone rose a little faster, but it still wasn't the nearly instantaneous shield Professor Dumbledore had created. "Very good," Dumbledore observed once Harry had finished. "Practice makes perfect, though. With repetition will come speed, which is vital in defence. Then we'll move on to incantationless casting, and the spell's battle applications. Of course, this transfiguration has other uses as well."

"Like what, Professor?" Hermione asked.

"Have you ever wanted to reach a book on the top of a shelf at the library, but there wasn't a ladder nearby?" Dumbledore asked with a twinkle in his eye. It wasn't quite the same as the hundred-plus-year-old Dumbledore had managed, but Harry thought it was still nice to see. Hermione blushed a bit and nodded, considering the possibilities.

"_Finite_!" Harry cast, shrinking the stone back to its original size.

"I believe that's all the time we have for tonight," Dumbledore said before reverting his own shield back to the stone slab it usually was. "Shall we?" He motioned to the exit, and the two teens followed.

"I've spoken with Lord Henry and your father about continuing your instruction this summer," he continued. "They've agreed to allow me to come to Edgewood on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays for that purpose. Lessons will be in the mornings from nine until noon."

"Will you be teaching us the same sorts of things?" Harry asked as they proceeded up the stairs.

"We'll be focusing more on transfiguration," Dumbledore replied. "I'd also like you to create your own spells this summer. Spell creation is an important part of a mastery. It shows skill, dedication, an understanding of theory, and the ability to conduct independent research. These qualities will stand you in good stead once you graduate and undertake your masteries. Having already created a spell will also enhance your reputations and act as an encouragement to a master to agree to take you on."

"That sounds amazing," Hermione gushed.

"We'll also begin work on a most complicated transfiguration," Dumbledore said. "It is extremely demanding and requires aptitude, skill, and concentration, however, I believe you can both achieve it."

"What transfiguration is that?" Harry asked, pushing the door to the corridor open and holding it for the others.

"It's one I believe you're familiar with," Dumbledore said with a small smile. "It involves a mandrake leaf…"

"You really think we can, professor?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"What?" Harry asked, confused.

"We're going to become animagi!" Hermione grinned. "You have to hold a mandrake leaf in your mouth from one full moon to the next. It's the first step in creating the potion that allows you to become an animagus."

"Wow," Harry said softly. He smiled slightly, wondering what his dad and Sirius would think, knowing he was following in their footsteps. Then he thought of Peter Pettigrew, Rita Skeeter, and Minnie, and was suddenly worried. What if he became a small, useless, or disgusting animal?

"Are you thinking about Sirius?" Hermione asked, noticing his introspection.

"Sort of," Harry shrugged. "I was also worried that I'd become a rat or a bug or something."

"The animagus transfiguration is complex," Dumbledore commented. "One of the reasons you hold the mandrake leaf in your mouth for a month is so your essence can be absorbed by the leaf. The potion doesn't turn you into something you're not, it merely reveals to you the animal already within you. Do you believe you'd be a rat or an insect?"

"I don't think so," Harry decided.

"You are a very brave, very dedicated, very caring young man, Mr. Potter. I believe you'll be quite satisfied with the animal you become." Harry smiled and nodded at the professor. Dumbledore came to a halt, and Harry was surprised to find himself in front of the fat lady's portrait. The walk hadn't seemed to take as long as it usually did. "I shall leave you here, and see you on Tuesday for your examination."

ooOOOOoo

"Ready for Defence.?" Harry asked at breakfast the next morning. The core subjects each got a half a day, except for Potions, which got three-quarters of the day; Astronomy, which got a quarter of a day and an evening; and History of Magic, which got a quarter of a day. Electives each got a quarter of a day except for Care of Magical Creatures, which got a half a day; and Alchemy, which was in the evening.

Hermione, of course, had developed complex study schedules for her and Harry, as well as other members of their friend group. Harry, Hermione, and Neville, fresh from their impressive, if somewhat underhanded, showing on the OWLs, were determined to keep impressing. Consequentially, they'd studied hard and performed well throughout the year. With the extra instruction from Dumbledore, Harry felt more ready to take on his end of year exams than he ever had before.

"Yes," Hermione replied. "Best get there soon. I don't want to be stuck at the back of the classroom."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "We'll probably be done before the others, and it wouldn't do to disturb them when we move to practicals."

"Well, well," John snorted. "Look who's full of themselves."

"It's not bragging when you can back it up," Harry shrugged with a grin. He picked up his bookbag and turned with Hermione, but looked back over his shoulder. "See you there?"

"Yeah," John said with a grin of his own, and went back to his eggs.

ooOOOOoo

The Defence. exam ended up being very easy for Harry. He quickly worked through the written portion, writing almost as much as Hermione almost as quickly. He identified all the dark creatures, described the theory behind resisting the Imperious Curse, and wrote a lengthy essay on why non-verbal casting was important in defence. situations.

If anything, the practical was even easier. Professor Silver knew how Harry had done on his OWLs, and he had seen Harry's work in class. He didn't cut the boy any slack when it came to administering the practicals. It didn't matter.

Harry was the first to turn in his written test, and Professor Silver invited him to the cleared area at the front of the room. He erected a charmed barrier to silence the testing area and protect it from errant spells.

"Your task is to duel me," Silver informed him.

"But…" Harry waffled. "You said we'd have to…"

"I know what I said," Silver cut him off. "You, however, are the top Defence. student in the school. I've already seen you perfectly cast all the spells I am asking the others to perform. So I'm going to actually test you, instead. Prepare to duel."

Harry raised his wand and took up the duelling stance. From the other side of the barrier, Hermione's eyes went wide when she realized what was going on. Silver fired the first spell, a stunner. Harry dodged, rolling to the right behind a desk. He leaned around the desk and fired his own silent stunner.

Harry missed, and leaned back behind the cover of the desk. Instead, the desk vanished, and Harry rolled away before another stunner passed through the space he'd been occupying. He popped up from the roll and fired a spell chain including two stunners, a jelly-finger jinx, two disarming charms, an impediment jinx, and a knee-reversing hex. He smiled when he saw Professor Silver had to raise a shield to defend against his attack. Harry moved and attacked again.

This time he conjured a flock of birds and sent them at the professor. He followed it up with a tickling hex, then dodged and fired off a knock-back jinx. Professor Silver managed to block those, but missed the tripping jinx Harry fired last. Silver quickly rolled and fired a brace of stunners, and suddenly Harry was on the defensive.

He quickly conjured a sheet of metal that deflected several of the stunners. Then the sheet vanished. Harry had been waiting for that, and tried to transfigure the professor into a chicken. He missed, but only by a whisker, and only because Silver had ducked. He cast a very powerful _augamenti _that nearly flooded the duelling area, then he froze the water, causing Silver to slip.

Before the professor could recover, he fired another spell chain of stunners, disarming charms, impediment jinxes, and conjured ropes. One of the stunners hit, and Silver went rigid, sliding across the ice until he bumped into the wall.

Harry hurried to his side, vanishing the ice as he went. He then bent over and revived Professor Silver, who sat up and shook his head to clear the cobwebs.

"Got me with a stunner, then?" Silver asked with a smile on his face. Harry nodded. He hadn't spoken a single word since the duel had started. "What was the white one fringed with pink?" he asked as he picked himself up off the ground.

"Erm, I was trying to transfigure you into a chicken," Harry replied bashfully.

"Oh, good show!" Silver laughed. "I say, that would've given the class quite the show." He glanced over to the desks where the other students were supposed to be taking their written exams. Instead, every eye was on them. "Although, I think you already did that. In any case, excellent work, Mr. Potter."

"Thank you, sir," Harry grinned. Professor Silver shook his hand, and lowered the barrier. The class applauded as Harry returned to his desk to collect his bookbag and prepared to leave. Professor Silver nodded but then admonished them to get back to work. Harry merely smiled and watched as Hermione step to the front of the class for her turn.

ooOOOOoo

By Wednesday, Harry was sure he was going to ace the exams this year. Charms had been almost as easy as Defence. Transfiguration was, if anything, easier than Defence., because of all the extra instruction Dumbledore had given them. Herbology was harder than the others, but even there, he benefited from his friendship with Neville, who was a Herbology prodigy. Each exam had consisted of the written portion, which usually took an hour, followed by a practical portion, which usually took about two minutes. With only three hours for the practicals, and eighty students to test, there wasn't much time for messing about. Harry had been the exception, rather than the rule during defence.

He sighed with relief when the Potions exam ended, and he staggered out of the lab to await Hermione. The brewing portion had been before lunch, and he'd successfully brewed the Draught of the Living Death and Volubilis potions in the four hours allotted. If Slughorn's beaming smile when he turned the vials in was any indication, he'd gotten an O on both. After lunch was the written portion, which Harry had had little trouble with, though it did take more time that he'd thought it would.

Hermione appeared a short time later, looking wrung out. He hugged her quickly and pulled her along with an arm about her waist.

"Come on," he said more cheerily than he felt. "Let's kip for a bit in the Room of Requirement before Astronomy."

"We need to study!" Hermione protested as she went along.

"We'll need the rest more than the studying," Harry pressured. "You'll get a T if you fall asleep halfway through, and you look done in after Potions."

"Fine," Hermione huffed, though Harry could tell she wasn't really peeved. She knew she needed the rest as much as he did. They had about an hour before the Astronomy written test began—just enough time to recharge their batteries.

ooOOOOoo

The last two days were a much lighter load. On Thursday morning, Harry and Hermione had a headache-inducing History of Magic exam, followed by a free period where a few other students were taking the Ancient Studies exam. Then in the afternoon Harry and Hermione sat their Arithmancy and Ancient Runes finals, which Harry found surprisingly easy. Alchemy was that evening, and was perhaps his most difficult final, as it was his worst subject. He was fairly certain he managed to pull an Exceeds Expectations, but he might've gotten an Acceptable.

Friday saw Harry and Hermione taking the Care of Magical Creatures exam, which concluded before lunch. It was their last exam. Muggle Studies and Divination had exams after lunch, but Harry and Hermione weren't taking those classes.

"Come on," Harry said, pulling Hermione out of lunch. "We'll see you lot later!" he called to the others.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked, shaking her head.

"I thought we could start date night a bit early," Harry replied. "After all, we'll want to get back early in order to pack."

"I'm already packed," Hermione countered. "Well, close enough, anyhow."

"Me too," Harry grinned. "Close enough. I guess we don't have to get back early after all."

"So, if this is date night, where are we going?" Hermione asked. "The Room's back that way."

"I know," Harry shrugged. "But it's so nice outside, I thought we could take a walk."

"Oh, and where are we walking to?"

"Someplace new," Harry replied as his mouth split into a cryptic smile. "It might take a while, though."

"As you pointed out, we have hours and hours," Hermione sighed, resigned but not unhappy. To her, any time spent with Harry was not time wasted.

They walked in companionable silence to the far side of the Black Lake, holding hands. Presently, Harry stopped and pulled out his wand. He stepped forward and raised it like a conductor leading an orchestra.

"I thought I'd try this out," he said, looking back at Hermione. When he again faced the Black Lake, he started incanting. Hermione recognized the spells and chuckled softly. About a hundred yards out in the lake the water started frothing and eventually, dry land emerged. It formed a small island with a slightly domed top. A few more spells and the hundred foot diameter island was covered in grass with a few trees growing on it. He added some small shrubs and flowers. A small sandy beach completed the new land.

"That's really good, Harry," Hermione said, honestly impressed. He'd managed to combine practically everything Dumbledore had taught them over the past year into one project. It clearly demonstrated his power, focus, and commitment. "You should show it to Dumbledore."

"It's almost done," he observed, waving his wand again. A small stone bench appeared, just large enough for two, hidden from Hogwarts by the trees and shrubs, but visible from where they were. One last wand wave created a twenty yard footbridge from the shore to the island. It was stone with delicately carved Gothic handrails. He lowered his wand, satisfied. Returning his wand, he turned to Hermione and held out his hand. "Care to join me?"

She nodded and took his hand, following as he led her over the bridge. She looked down in the water and could see fish flitting about below. Harry let her wander, and went to the bench, sitting. He leaned back, enjoying the midday sun that winked through the new tree leaves above him.

He was done for another year. There would be lessons, but no real grades—nothing to affect his public record, until September. After that, only one year of study remained, or perhaps not. Dumbledore seemed to be setting him on a course for at least one mastery following his NEWTs. Harry had no idea who he could convince to take him on as a Transfiguration apprentice, since he knew of no other masters in the subject besides Dumbledore.

Hermione wandered over at last, basking in the fresh air and the sounds of the Black Lake. She sat next to him, leaning into the nook created by his arm draped over the back of the bench.

"This is perfect," she said happily.

"I agree," Harry smiled back at her. Then he decided to ask her. "Have you thought about the future?"

"You mean the 90's, or our future now?"

"I mean our future," Harry clarified. "What do you want to do after next year?"

"I suppose I hadn't really thought about it," Hermione reasoned. "Coming back to the 1940s has really thrown my long-term plans for a loop. That, and we were fairly busy doing… everything we've done, and studying… I mean, well… you know."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "We've been non-stop for the last year haven't we? Then again, we've been non-stop for the last six years when you think about it."

"It's been pretty wild." Then Hermione turned the tables. "What do you want to do?"

"I have literally no idea," Harry replied. "Dumbledore seems to be setting us up for a mastery after NEWTs, but a mastery in what?" He looked out over the water, thinking for a moment. "Dumbledore will probably be dead by then, so he won't be able to take us on for a Transfiguration mastery, and I don't know of any other Transfiguration masters. I was thinking maybe I'd do a Defence. mastery. I could see if Professor Silver would take me on, or perhaps Professor Yates would let me do a Charms mastery. Then… I dunno."

Hermione considered his statement for a moment, her eyes flitting from the water to Harry and back again.

"The idea of a mastery is one I like," Hermione agreed. "It would give us some time to develop a better idea of what we want to do with our lives."

"I like that."

"What?"

"_Our_ lives." Harry smiled. "I might have no idea what I'd like to do, but I know in my heart that I want you there with me whatever I do."

"I want you there too, Harry," Hermione replied, looking at him and smiling broadly, eyes perhaps a little damp. He leaned down and kissed her gently. When he pulled back she continued. "I might try for a mastery in Charms, or perhaps Ancient Runes. Maybe Uncle Flea or Aunt Mia can give us some tips."

"Sure," Harry agreed. "And I think our ruse will help you out in the long run."

"Why's that?"

"I know it's wrong, but… well, we can try to change it… at least it won't affect you between now and then…"

"What are you talking about?"

"People here don't know you're a muggleborn, Hermione. They think you're a half-blood," Harry replied. "Even in the 1990s you couldn't do much as a muggleborn. In the 1940s that's even more true. As a muggleborn only were you not a member of the 'elite', many of them wouldn't even consider hiring you because of their prejudices. Now, you're a titled half-blood. You might not be a member of the 'elite' pureblood class, but they won't immediately reject your application just because you're muggleborn. You can climb to near the pinnacle of any profession you choose, and you won't be held back by an accident of birth."

"I wasn't ashamed of being muggleborn, Harry."

"_I_ know! I'm not saying you were. I'm saying… our lie has set you free." Harry sighed. "I love you for you, not for who your parents were or weren't. I want you to succeed, and now you can; even if that means leading the charge for muggleborn rights. You might have to hide who you are because of our lie, but maybe, because of it, others won't."

Hermione stopped to consider this. Harry knew he wasn't the best with words, and he knew that the entire subject of muggleborns was a tricky one where Hermione was concerned, despite her protests. It really hadn't come up over the past year, mostly due to the fact that almost no one in the 1940s knew she was one. Harry hoped he'd convinced her. Finally, she smiled.

"I could become a political activist," she said at last. "Hermione Granger, Organizer!" She chuckled, ruefully. "Could you imagine?"

"You bet I could!" Harry grinned in reply.

ooOOOOoo

It was suppertime before Harry and Hermione returned to the castle. Their friends were all venting their frustrations at the exams when they reached the Gryffindor table and sat down.

"I think I failed the Divination exam," John moped. "I mean, I still don't understand how chicken bones can help tell the future."

"Are you planning to become a seer?" Neville asked around a mouthful of Yorkshire Pudding.

"No," John laughed. "Could you imagine?"

Harry and Hermione shared a smile at that line.

"Then I wouldn't worry about it," Neville continued. "I think I did very well where it counted, which is a first for me."

"You've done well before," Hermione said, jumping in. "Herbology's always come easy to you."

"I suppose," Neville shrugged. "I'm finally doing well on my wanded subjects, I should've said."

"You did great on your OWLs," Harry commented.

"Will you lot stop arguing with me?" Neville pleaded. "I did well on my exams, and I'm happy!"

"We're happy for you," Hermione agreed, ending the discussion.

"So where have you lot been all day?" John asked, looking at Harry and Hermione.

"Out by the Black Lake," Harry said. "We were taking an afternoon stroll."

"That's a heck of a stroll," John whistled. "It took, what… four hours?"

"So?" Harry challenged with a smile. "How long do your walks with Kathleen take? And at night too!"

"No comment," John said, reddening, and becoming suddenly very interested in his chicken.

"Speaking of night, can we expect you too to be out?" Neville asked. "It is date night, if I'm not mistaken."

"You shouldn't wait up," Hermione said, grinning like the cat that got the canary. Harry blinked in surprise.

"Harry?" Neville prodded.

"What she said," Harry replied quickly.

ooOOOOoo

After dinner it was Hermione's turn to pull Harry away, to the catcalls of their friends. Blushing but undeterred, she headed straight for the Room of Requirement, and paced before the door. When she opened it, she looked in and grinned. Then she reached back and pulled him into the room.

Harry got a good idea of what she wanted to do on their last night there when he entered. There was a sitting area to the right with a loveseat, side tables, coffee table, and fireplace. To the left, there was a large bed nearly buried in fluffy pillows. In the back there was a large tub sunk into the ground that rivalled the prefects' bath. Harry hoped against hope, and when he did so, his brain disengaged, and he was speechless.

"Come and sit," Hermione said, pulling him to the loveseat. He sat next to her, fingers intertwined with hers. They were both silent for almost a minute. Harry looked around a bit, smiled at Hermione and then stared into the fire. "I've been thinking…"

"About?" Harry asked lightly.

"Do you remember the conversation we had over Easter hols?"

"Like it was yesterday," Harry admitted.

"So, I've been thinking quite a bit about what I said…" She trailed off, suddenly uncertain. The silence held for several heartbeats.

"And…" Harry tried to draw her out.

"And I've come to realize that you were right," Hermione said at last. "I love you for you. I love you because of what you represent as well, but first and foremost, I love you because you're kind, and gentle, and loving, and strong, and vibrantly alive… I love you because you love me, because you care for me, because you put me first almost always, and because you're never not thinking about me. I love you because you're protective and inventive. I just… I love you, Harry; more than I've ever loved anyone or anything else." She paused for a moment, and Harry let her.

"I care for you very deeply," she said. "I mean, I love and care about my parents. I always will…"

"And you should," Harry agreed.

"And I can't deny that you help bring them closer, even though you've only met them a few times. Of course I love Uncle Flea, Aunt Mia, and the other Potters I've met as well. I love Neville, and Margaret, John, Marina, and Kathleen. I love Ron and Ginny too." She smiled sadly at the sense of loss. "But I love you more than anything."

"I love you too, 'Mione," Harry said, drawing her into a hug. "More than anything." They didn't need words. They knew through each touch and caress. They knew through the look in their eyes. Finally, they knew through the kiss. Harry moved forward, pressing his lips insistently to Hermione's, which she reciprocated with enthusiasm.

For nearly ten minutes they were lost in the kiss. When they finally surfaced, flushed and breathless, they grinned at each other.

"I'd hoped that we might… do a little more than just kiss," Hermione said with a sultry look.

"Did you have anything specific in mind, or were you just going to play it by ear?"

"I'm Hermione Granger," she snorted. "Of course I had something specific in mind."

"And what was that?"

"It's a surprise," she said, standing. She pulled him to his feet as well. "Now, let's go to bed."

"As you wish," Harry said as he followed her. He watched as she sprang onto the bed, wallowing in the pile of pillows. "You're so beautiful."

"Are you coming, or are you going to stand there all night, staring at me?" Harry didn't need any more prompting, and climbed into bed, snuggling up to Hermione. They kissed some more and hands started to wander. "You, sir, are wearing entirely too many clothes."

"Taking my clothes off is your job," Harry said smugly.

"Oh really?" she asked. With a smirk she moved to undo his buttons. His shirt was soon cast to the floor, where they were joined moments later by his shoes, socks, and trousers.

"Now who has too many clothes on?" Harry asked with a smirk of his own.

"It's not my fault you're laying down on the job!" Hermione joked.

"I'll show you…" And Harry moved to divest Hermione of her clothes as well. By now, he was an old hand at it and even the bra came away easily. Together they shucked the last of their clothes, and once again lost themselves in each other.

Harry was particularly fond of Hermione's breasts, and he lavished them with attention. Hermione, on the other hand, enjoyed groping Harry's arse. Each made sure to pay attention to other body parts as well, and the two teens were quickly a tangle of limbs. They explored and petted for a quarter hour or more, steadily working themselves into an excited state.

Finally, breathless, Hermione pulled back, holding up a finger. She reached over to her trousers and pulled out her wand. She cast a spell on herself, returned her wand and turned back to him.

"Harry, I… I'm ready."

"What…"

"Make love to me."

"Are you sure?"

"More sure than anything in the world. I'm yours and you're mine. Love me."

So he did. Three times.

ooOOOOoo

Afterwards, a thoroughly exhausted pair of teens relaxed on the bed before cleaning off in the bath. There was quite a bit of groping that went on, as is wont to happen between two nude teens in love, but both were too tired to do much more than that. In the bath, Harry sat on the seat and simply held Hermione on his lap. Hermione leaned her head back and played with the bubbles.

"That was better than I could've ever hoped," she said happily.

"It was quite good," Harry agreed, equally happy. "What was that spell you cast?"

"The contraceptive charm," Hermione answered. "I love you more than life itself, but I'd still like to be married before I become a mum."

"Agreed," Harry nodded. "I suppose we should talk about that, too."

"What? Marriage?"

"Yeah," Harry allowed.

"Ask me when we've got our NEWTs," she said. "If you want to."

"I can't imagine not wanting to," Harry said firmly.

"Good to hear," Hermione said, caressing his leg under the water. "But I'm not ready to think about doing that for a while."

"Okay," Harry acquiesced, fondling her.

"What time is it?" Harry reached for his wand and cast a _tempus_. It showed just before ten o'clock. "We should get back," she said after sighing. Harry made a moue. "Oh, come on," Hermione grinned, turning and rising. "We're going to be doing this a lot more now that we've done it. How many nights did I not come to your room over Easter hols?" Harry took some time answering her because he was too busy staring at the bubbles dripping off her breasts that were conveniently right at eye level. She chuckled and snapped her fingers.

"Every night," Harry replied at last, smiling.

"Then don't be sad it's over tonight," she chastised. "'Cause it's going to happen again soon. Probably tomorrow." She pulled him up. "Let's go."

ooOOOOoo

"You both look entirely too happy," John said as the friends entered their compartment on the Express. "It wouldn't have anything to do with your late return to the tower last night, would it Harry?"

"I have no comment," a smiling Harry replied.

"Will I get the scoop later?" Kathleen asked Hermione.

"Not with any details you'll be happy with," Hermione replied smugly.

"Oh, come on," Kathleen pouted, then lowered her voice. "I told you about…" John blushed crimson.

"Yes, and you shouldn't have," Hermione replied with a feral grin as she sat next to Harry. "It was most unladylike." Kathleen's eyes went wide.

"Don't think I'll forget about this," Kathleen said at last when she recovered her composure. "I'll get the story out of you when we get back next year if I don't see you before then."

"We'll be pretty busy," Harry informed them. "No rest for the weary."

"I believe the saying is 'no rest for the wicked'," John parried.

"Them too," Harry allowed.

Neville and Marina joined them, exchanging greetings without comment. Margaret came last, sitting next to Hermione. Rather than join the conversation, she pulled out a book after her trunk went up overhead.

Harry took Hermione's hand and smiled at her as the train lurched away from Hogsmeade station. Things were definitely looking up.

THE END

A/N: I've started work on the sequel to Me Without My TARDIS. I have no idea how long it will take to write, but be assured that as soon as it's done, it will be published.

Thanks for reading!


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